


Once Moving Forward

by OneofWebs



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Cero Hawke, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Purple Hawke, Templar Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-03-30 01:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: It was easy enough, at the best of times, to forget that Cero Hawke was a Templar. He had fought for mages, for their freedom, and had always treated them as equals. But, after he's bedridden from his deciding battle with the Arishok, he's gone long enough without taking lyrium that Anders can't ignore his addiction to it any longer.It was hard enough to look past it, and even harder to see just where Cero wanted to take it. Sometimes, it was easy enough to just not talk about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as just a quick exposition for the time jump between Act 2 and Act 3, and it got out of hand pretty fast. I have more than this first part written already, but I wanted to start posting it before I finished it completely. This has been my entire spring break project, and unfortunately I return to class tomorrow. 
> 
> The rating is explicit because there's going to be stuff in the later chapters. I don't want to worry with changing ratings as I post.
> 
> Hopefully I can still get it finished within a reasonable amount of time. Enjoy!

Isabela was safe, fought over like some prize and none too pleased with it. But, safe, and that was more than could be said for anybody else, really. The only thing holding Cero up on his feet was his battle axe. Spattered in blood. Like his armor, like him, and his arms were shaking against it. Frozen like a statue amidst the rabble of fleeing Qunari, freed nobles. Anders left his staff at the door as he broke into a dash, across the room, only coming to a stop inches away. His hands hovering just above Cero, just about his armor, trembling, watching.

“I’m fine,” he said. Shortly, matter of fact, and Anders saw the plea in his eye. Let him walk out of this duel with some dignity, if he had any at all. Let him not be dragged out on knocking knees and panting like a beaten dog. He’d fought this far alone, and he’d walk out of the Keep like a victor. But when he stepped, he stumbled, and Anders braced him.

“You need healing, love,” he whispered. Just low enough to keep it private. Cero glanced up, but he didn’t seem ready to argue. There was blood dripping down his forehead, from his lips. Anders couldn’t even begin to image the damage beneath the armor.

“If you take me to that sewer house of yours, we’re getting a divorce,” Cero quipped. A familiar little flicker of poor jokes back in his eye, and he brushed past Anders as he attempted his best, proud hobble. Anders followed close behind, just in case, and couldn’t help the smile on his lips. There was just so something about the way Cero could find it in him to joke after a battle like that. And to joke about a divorce meant they had to be married first—and Anders would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like the idea of it.  
There were more important matters than daydreams of a wedding, and the minute they left the sight of polite company, Cero slouched into Anders’ shoulder. He’d stopped using his axe as a walking stick half way down the stairs from the Keep, and now he was just barely hanging on.

“Need some help there, big guy?” Isabela said. There was laughter in her voice as she sauntered up and snatched the axe away from him. It was the last stumble he needed to be just nearly on the ground himself. Isabela sent a wink Anders’ way before moved along.

“You can have it back when you can stand,” and she slung it over her shoulder. One turn away, and she was on her way to Lowtown. Another moment walking, and Varric followed her. It was just them, after that, and Anders didn’t miss the pleased little huff Cero worked out. They were not going to Anders’ Sewer House.

_

The stairs were the hardest part of the trek to Cero’s bedroom. Anders had to nearly drag him, and it didn’t help with Glissandro whining and trying to follow up. Certainly loyal, those Mabari, but there was a time and place, and it was not now. Anders did his best to be gentle, but he was still definitely kicking the dog away. What Cero didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, hopefully, and he finally managed to get Cero into his room.

“Can you stand?” Anders asked.

“Mm,” a pathetic response. Cero braced himself against the posts of his bed. It was clear he was shaky, so Anders worked quickly, until it was easier to have him sit on the edge of the bed.

Peeling off his armor was a tedious task, and even painful. Though most of the heavy metal had held up, it was clear there was more damage underneath than they could see. Anders couldn’t hide his grimace—the Arishok had done a number on Cero. He couldn’t contain himself when they finally got to the arm he’d been keeping to himself. Broken, probably. Or at least worse for wear, like the rest of him. 

“You might as well be a giant bruise,” Anders said. More of a side comment than anything, but Cero still gave him an eye for it.

“Wouldn’t have had to do it if Isabela hadn’t been so damned…” but he let it die on his lips. “I’m glad she came back.”

Anders huffed, vaguely like a laugh, and covered it with some endeared smile, “I am too.”

For whatever it was, it was quickly interrupted by a loud grunt. Anders had finally gotten to work, and there was nothing to say for the dull, aching pain that started to course through Cero’s arm. Nothing like magic to pop his body back into place. It was never entirely pleasant, and the surprise hadn’t helped. Anders couldn’t keep his own grimace concealed either. For all the patients he had worked on at the clinic, Cero not only proved to be a difficult one, but the one he was always most worried about. It made the process long and tedious, but worth it.

“Maker,” Cero groaned. He shifted ever slightly, only for Anders to reprimand him with a light slap.

“Stop moving, you’ll make it worse.”

“Nothing could make it worse than right now, at this very moment. Anders, love, I think I’m dying,” he droned on, his free and nonwounded arm throw across his face for dramatic effect.

Anders rolled his eyes and did not respond. This time, he wasn’t so particularly sympathetic when Cero groaned at the next gaping wound that zipped shut with magic. The session dragged on a while longer, but it was clear that it was drawing too late into the evening when Glissandro started pawing at the door. It was no secret that Hawke slept with his dog, and that was a fact Anders was not allowed to forget.

“We should stop for the night,” he decided.

Cero’s head lulled to the side to watch Anders stiffen uncomfortably in the chair. There wasn’t much handiwork to be admired. Anders was a master in his craft, sure, but there was little to be done for the damage the Arishok had caused. It had been a rough fight, and Cero looked the part.

“I should head back to the clinic. I’ll stop by in the morning—”

“Stay.”

Anders paused mid-stand, still lingering in a hover above the chair, hands planted firmly on the bed. He stared at Cero, who stared back. His left eye was beginning to swell, but he was still so genuine in his stare. Almost pouting. But.

“I’ll be back to check up on you in the morning. Stay in bed,” Anders leaned over to plant a kiss on Cero’s head and pulled back just as fast. It was the same old conversation they’d been having—or tried to have—since their first night together. In the heat of the moment, it had been so easy to get swept up in Cero’s invitation. To be right there, living in Hightown. But he’d never acted on it. Cero had tried, several times, and this is all that came of it.

When Anders opened the door to Cero’s room, Glissandro rushed passed him and jumped right into the bed. He was careful—a smart boy—and didn’t jostle Cero too badly. He settled in nicely, pressed up against Cero’s side and head resting on his stretched-out arm. It was all Anders could do to keep himself from being jealous of a dog, of all things. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he closed the door behind him as he left.

__

Anders kept his promise and stopped by the Hawke Manor every morning. He kept his promise a little too well, and by the third day of being woken up before the sun had even appeared, Cero was beginning to think this was just some sick modicum of payback for making Anders worry. Or something similar. Still, he groaned when Anders shook him awake, again, for the third time.

“Five more minutes,” Cero tried.

“You said that fifteen minutes ago. I can’t stay forever, besides, I have a message for you today.”

That piqued Cero’s interest enough that he at least rolled onto his back, one drowsy eyebrow arched in anticipation. Anders certainly did have a piece of parchment in his hand, and he unfolded it when he was sure he had Cero’s undivided attention.

“It’s a summons. Apparently, they want to make you Champion of this great and noble city,” Anders smirked.

“Ah,” like it was just another Tuesday, if it even was Tuesday. “I think I have to defer to my healer’s advice. I haven’t been let out of bed in three days, you see. I’m not even sure my legs work anymore.”

“Well, in my humble opinion then,” the paper was discarded onto the nightstand, “you’re a sniveling infant.”

Cero couldn’t help but laugh, and with Anders’ help, he sat up in bed. Surely, there wasn’t anything really better than showing up to a ceremony with the wounds that would earn him the title, Champion of Kirkwall, was there? There was at least some kind of irony attached to it, and Cero had always been a fine appreciator of irony. Irony like the situation.  
He had a sudden dizziness about him, when he was sitting there, and a lurching in his stomach that threatened to make him vomit what little food he’d been eating anyway. He pressed his head into his hand and tried to focus on something. It took a moment, but Anders merged back into one very worried man, instead of the vaguely three there had been.

“Are you alright?” Cero hadn’t noticed, but Anders was kneeling in the bed with him now, a hand on his shoulder and another on his chest. Keeping him steady. He must have been swaying.

“I—yeah. I didn’t think it’d start this soon.”

“Didn’t think what’d start this soon?” Anders sat back on his haunches, watching with caution as he released Cero. He seemed capable enough of sitting on his own, for the time being.

“I uh—I haven’t,” Cero gulped. This was a delicate subject, it always had been. And while Cero was sure he’d proved himself an advocate for the mage’s cause, that didn’t make him feel any less unsure.

“I haven’t taken my…” and he trailed off again, eyes drifting over to his desk. He’d been confined to bed, he hadn’t had a chance. He hadn’t felt right asking.

Anders followed his gaze, and grimaced at the old, familiar box that always sat there, in the corner. Always closed, like that might hide its contents, like that might make things a little easier. It wasn’t the lyrium that Anders had anything against. No. As a mage, he needed it himself from time to time. But he wasn’t bound do it. He didn’t shake.  
It served as a reminder that Cero was, onward still, a templar.

“I’m sorry,” he always whispered, when Anders brought him the box. He felt pathetic, the way his fingers trembled as he reached for it. It had only been three days, and this is what was taking place. He should’ve been stronger than this, it shouldn’t have ever been this bad.  
But.

When Cero grabbed the box, Anders didn’t give way. Now he was just being selfish, Maker, he knew he was. It wasn’t the lyrium that was the problem. It wasn’t even that Cero was a templar. Or maybe it was. Anders had known since they met—Bethany had been the one to tell him, unfortunately, but he had known. Cero had fessed up not too much later, and everyone knew after that. They were traveling with Cero Hawke, the Templar from Lothering.

Except, he wasn’t really a templar. Not anymore. Not really. Anders tried to tell himself that. Cero had never joined the Kirkwall Templars. He had never once considered it, and freely bad-mouthed the entire order. He didn’t care for the Templars, and truly didn’t care for the treatment of circle mages. It had been worse ever since Bethany had been taken away, and though her letters insisted that she was fine and unharmed, Anders was sure that Cero was worried. 

His worry was what had driven him to the Templar order in the first place. To protect Bethany. Anders had memorized the story, because it was truly noble, really. To sacrifice everything for the order, so that they knew they would be able to keep Bethany where she belonged. With her family. But that had only worked inside of Lothering. Now, in Kirkwall, Bethany gone.

“What if you quit?” Anders blurted it out before he’d even realized his mouth was open. His own voice shocked him, and he stood there wide eyed and slack jawed. Staring at Cero, who’s eyes were just as wide. Wide and grey, looking at Anders like he’d just suggested he fight the Arishok again.  
Not a good idea, in essence.

“Quit…lyrium? Anders, you know that’s dangerous, I—I couldn’t, I…” Cero trailed off, and pulled his hand back from the box. A flurry of defenses went through his mind. All the times that his templar abilities had come in handy against the mages they had faced, how many abominations they’d slayed. How his templar training had even protected them, because the order trusted him. For however stupid it was, and for however Meredith glared at him whenever she had the chance—the order, Cullen—they all trusted him. Because he was one of them. 

But in the end, these were excuses. Excuses because Cero didn’t want to face the withdrawal, because it was painful. It was a nightmare. Templars died trying to get off lyrium. Cero wasn’t special. He could die just as easily.

“I didn’t mean, well,” Anders sighed, heavily, clutching the box. “I meant it, I just didn’t mean to say it. I think about it, you know. I’d even help you through it.”

Cero glanced up at Anders, and reciprocated his sigh, “Oh, Anders…” but in the end, he reached out and took the box. Anders gave it up willingly this time and didn’t try to hide he disappointment over his features.

“I don’t think I could do it,” Cero’s voice was nothing but a whisper. Barely audible.

Anders nodded, “I shouldn’t have suggested it. I’ll be back in the evening. Someone has to make you look presentable for this Champion crowning, whatever it is,” and he shrugged. He didn’t wait around long enough to hear Cero’s goodbye, and instead fled out the front door.

He’d been stupid to think that Cero would’ve agreed with him. It had just made him selfish, to try and force Cero off lyrium. Of course, it was easier to keep using, and to think anything else just made him intolerant. He cared about Cero, the way he was, and if that meant a hefty lyrium addiction, well. He tried not to think about it, really. It meant the risk of death was significantly reduced, anyway, assuming he wasn’t impaled by some bandit on the street.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter. I'm not good at chapters, so like I've never written in actual chapters. I just break it up after the fact. But, the next part is long and dirty so it'll make up for it.

Alone, it took all of Cero’s strength not to throw himself back underneath the covers. Burry his head beneath the pillows and forget the world, and that damned box existed. It wasn’t an option, not with the way his fingers were twitching, nostrils flaring. Like his body couldn’t physically wait, and he knew it couldn’t. But, Maker, if Anders’ face hadn’t really driven something home. It wasn’t anything Cero had ever done, but he knew it was the memories. It wasn’t Cero, it was just the very state of being a templar. 

It was far too much to ask of one man.

But, Cero had done it every day, and the threat of just what it would mean to stave himself away from lyrium was all the drive it took for him to take his dosage. Maybe even more, he wasn’t paying attention. He was looking for the tingle it sent down his spine and through his fingertips, that clear-headed fogginess that wrapped around his brain, and made everything a little simpler, a little crisper, when he looked around.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Cero said.

Glissandro whined in response, resting his head on his two front paws, and just staring upward at Cero. Just, staring, with big dark eyes. And oh, they were wide, circular, and judgmental. Like he knew every thought that had just gone through Cero’s head. Anders’ comfort wasn’t enough to make him want to stop lyrium, and that just made him want to gag. Glissandro looked a little too pleased with himself when Cero let out a hefty sigh.

“I hate you sometimes. You know too much,” he pointed an accusatory glare Glissandro’s way. The mabari just barked, happily, and shifted until he could lay his head to the side. Job done, eyes closed, he was snorting not half a second later.

Anders wasn’t a dog person, never had been. He insisted that he loved, adored, cherished the very existence of cats. Which wasn’t something Cero was about to doubt, not counting the times he’d walked into the Clinic to see Anders feeding cats instead of tending to patients. If there had been any, something Cero had failed to notice almost every time he visited. He really needed to be more cautious, or at least open his eyes to something else other than Anders. 

Still, he sighed. He shifted to the edge of the bed, feet firmly planted on the hardwood floors. He stretched his arms up, cracking his back in the process, and immediately the stress came rolling back into his bones at the sound of the front door opening. Closing. Nobody but Anders had a key—not that he’d used it for anything other than to check up on Cero for the past three days. A ridiculously stupid use of a key when he had invited Anders to ¬live with him, but maybe that was a side effect of the lyrium too. He was an undesirable living companion.

Selfish, stupid—

“Hey, lover boy,” Isabela said. Leaning in the doorway to his bedroom like she owned the entire Hawke manor, and really had some reason to be there, with his axe leaning on her hip. She had a smirk on her face, biting gently on her bottom lip like she was just soaking up Cero’s absolute misery.

“What do you want?”

She pushed off the frame and dragged the axe across the floor to meet him. It was on purpose, because he knew she could carry it, she just wanted to hear the loud celebratory scrape across the floor—something Bohdan would have to fix later, if he was to be so kind. He always was.

“I saw your mage boy storm out of here in a bit of a tizzy. Some kind of spat?” 

She busied herself hoisting the axe into it’s display across the floor from Cero’s bed, and he watched her carefully. In case she was out to scuff something else in her untimely stay in his room.

“More like a disagreement, you wouldn’t believe how uppity the healer gets about my well-being,” like it was a joke, but he didn’t try to hide the box in his hands when Isabela turned around. She planted her hands firmly on her hips and gave Cero that look. That look like he was definitely in the wrong, and he had never before in his life thought Isabela looked like his dog, until that second. 

It was the same look Glissandro gave him not ten minutes before. 

“He’s enough to worry about without you being so high and mighty. You could stand to loosen up, ya know. Take him out on the town, leave the baggage at home,” and she nodded pointedly to the box.

Cero instinctively tightened his grip around the worn edges. Isabela wasn’t going to forcibly take the box from him, he knew that, but the threat was just. It egged at him. Maybe there really was something going on, something wrong at the very least.

“I’ll think about it,” his lackluster reply.

Isabela almost laughed at him, but it was more a hurried snort through her nose as she looked away, feigning indignance.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” but it was, truly, her favorite thing, “but don’t be the living embodiment of ‘all templars are the same’.”

That stung.

“Your damsel in distress is already in the circle,” Isabela waved her hand in the air to demonstrate the shape, “and your…boyfriend in distress is in a dingy old sewer clinic.”

She didn’t say anything else, just waved idly by as she turned on the heel and left, clicking her way down the stairs. Cero listened as she left, listened to the door close just as soft as it had opened the first time. He’d change the locks, again, if it would do anything. But, Isabela was always here, and she was becoming more and more welcome each time.  
He didn’t see Anders again until that evening, and he was just another face in the crowd. A smiling face, near the back of the Viscount Keep where nobody would pay much attention to him. There were nobles strewn about, the area full, and Cero could still pick out each of his friends scattered here and there. Keeping sparse, especially Anders and Merrill. It was a dangerous think to bring mages anywhere in Kirkwall, apostates especially, and straight into Viscount Keep. But, they were there, supporting him.

The nobles were supporting him enough, as it was, and thought it just as well to slap a crown on his head. They couldn’t make him Viscount, not with the incredibly backlash that would come of it, and not with that horrid glare Meredith had on her face. She was already stepping into power, but the cry out of the nobles would not be ignored. Especially if she wanted any chance of her rise being ignored, for the most part. And that meant crowning Cero as Champion of Kirkwall. As loathe as she was to do it.

Cero was standing there, listening to Meredith’s speech drone on. She was talking about valor, or something. Lost cause this, his incredible talents that. He was standing up there in his armor, his axe at his back, and a glistening black eye on his face. His lip was still busted, healing slowly, and he was stiffer than he’d ever been before. The lying in bed had been terrible for him, but Maker, it had been welcome. Save the crick in his neck, and how it ached the longer he stood there at uncomfortable attention.

But, Meredith took a deep breath, and she had to be winding down now. Cero drowned back into reality, instead of staring forward. Watching Anders fiddle with the feathers on his coat instead of listening to a word the Knight-Commander had to say. Cero really couldn’t fault him, or the flutter in his heard when Anders finally started to pay attention, hearing the last thing Meredith had to say.

“It is my honor,” the word burned, “to name Cero Hawke as Champion of Kirkwall.”

The room erupted into applause, long and drawn out, as Cero got to stand there with the ceremonial nonsense. He was almost shocked nobody was there to paint a picture, it would’ve lasted longer than all the wide eyed and happy stares. Not that Cero didn’t love being the center of attention, but his attention was drawn elsewhere. Even Anders had to smile, watching the whole ridiculous circumstance, and he shook his head almost endearingly. Pushing off the wall and making his way towards the exit.

Cero felt his heartstrings go when Anders did, and he couldn’t help but glance nervously over towards Meredith.

“As much as I love all the nobles loving me—how long do I need to stand here exactly?”

“You may go whenever you wish, Champion,” she eyed him curiously, though she did not shift to truly, really look at him. It was probably the face wounds; very ugly. “I would do well to warn you of the reception, though. I hear there’s to be some very fine eating,” and wine was left unsaid, but Meredith walked away after that. The way that she did, sort of strutting down the stairs. 

She’d been unhappy to hear that Cero had no intention of joining the Templars. Even more unhappy that he was supporting mages. Almost enraged that he was cavorting with apostates. But even she could be civil, in a room full of prying eyes and excited nobles.

Cero followed suit down the stairs moments later, and even as his joints screamed at him, he made it in record timing. The plan had been to spear straight through the crowd, out the front door, and to find Anders before he slinked back down into darktown. Maybe even invite him back to the manor for some drinks of their own. A warm bed. An evening uninterrupted by Glissandro’s incessant pawing at the door, maybe, and Cero laughed to himself at the thought. But.

“Champion, Champion!” a noble, an overly exciting woman, cut him off. And there seemed a line behind her of more and more nobles who wanted to talk with the newly crowned Champion of Kirkwall. Inane questions, declarations of thanks and gratitude.

Cero was more than happy to talk to those who had been at the fight with the Arishok. He had taken most of the nobles of the city hostage, and the threat of death was imminent. Cero remembered those he had not been able to save with a heavy heart, as he always did, and was glad so many had survived. Even if they were nobles—he did live in hightown, so they were his people, he supposed.

The marriage proposals were a little over the top, and every time a question lead with “have you met my daughter” or “my son is such a fan”, Cero shut them down. A polite little gesture, that he’s not interested, that he’s preoccupied with Champion Work. As if every noble in Kirkwall had suddenly forgotten that Cero had been Champion for all of the lesser part of an hour and was not some veteran in the field. Still, his vague and witty answers were well enough for anyone who heard them. Enough to get him out of the party with at least one glass of wine down his throat, which was really all he needed.

Anders was long gone by the time he finally made his way out of Viscount Keep, which wasn’t surprising. After all the whatever they’d gone through, and how long he’d been entertaining nobles, Cero didn’t really, couldn’t actually, expect Anders to be waiting around for him. It would’ve been nice, though. He wasn’t about to hide that he was disappointed, and began his sore, slow walk back to the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's easier to forget the talking and delve into something a little more primal. Talking is difficult, and forgetting is so much easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content and really nothing else.

His first thought upon seeing the door left ajar was that Isabela had snuck in for a snack, or some quick, plush place to take a nap before heading out for a drunken night at the Hanged Man. But, she wasn’t the cause of it. It was more or less the silence that tipped him off to it, that, and the large armchair had been pulled out in front of the fireplace. It didn’t usually sit there—for all the size in the house, Cero tried to keep the furniture off to the side to give Glissandro room to roam. There wasn’t enough time in the day to give him the exercise that he needed, but Cero could at least give him room in the house. Still, now, the chair was out in front of the fireplace, and Cero would recognize the coat hanging off the back of it anywhere.

“I thought you’d never put that key to use,” Cero said, and what a poor greeting indeed. Anders didn’t even glance away from the fire, and instead, nervously twiddled with his fingers in his lap.

“Quite the party though, yeah? I thought Meredith was gonna burst if she had to keep saying all those nice things about me. The templar bit stung though,” and he was headed upstairs. It probably wasn’t the best topic of conversation, but he continued, loud enough that he was sure Anders could hear, as he removed his armor.

“She’s never been my biggest fan. I was rolling in it, watching her squirm up there. Oh, but I saw you down there too. Totally zoned out, you were. I’m a little offended,” gauntlets off first, and left haphazardly on the desk. “Isn’t the boyfriend supposed to pay attention on the big day? I don’t think I’d have even been able to stand up the whole time if you hadn’t been taking care of me, anyway.”

The boots, next. They were big, and clunky, and Cero was happy to have them off. Running around the Wounded Coast was a lot different than standing at attention while Meredith pretended to be impressed with his achievement.

“Well, you were there, anyway. Thanks,” an afterthought, and how it sounded like one too. He winced at his own carelessness, and next came the breastplate.

After he was securely and comfortably back in normal clothing, he left his room and walked out to the banister. He leaned against it, on his elbows, and looked down over into the main room.

“Anders?”

Anders glanced his way just brief enough that Cero knew he was listening.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” he started, rubbing over the back of his neck. He wasn’t good at apologies, but Anders appreciated them. So, he had to try. “The whole,” he waved his hands, “lyrium bit.”

There was no response.

“I’ve thought about it before, it’s just…not a good time?” Ouch. “I’m not ready,” that wasn’t any better. He may never be ready.

The only response was a slight shift in the chair, and at least now Anders was looking at him. He still wouldn’t speak, and they weren’t making eye contact. Just looking in each other’s general direction as Anders picked at his fingernails, ran his thumb over the edges. 

“Anders…” Cero tried again, but the words wouldn’t follow. What more could he say? What more excuses could his mind present to try and make the situation seem less than it was? He could think a few, but none really seemed proper in the circumstance, and everything just made him sound like he was defending himself. He knew it was a problem. Lyrium addiction was a problem. Just the general facts of it, more or less, and thought less of the weight on his own shoulders. 

“It’s fine,” Anders said. He shattered the silence and left Cero’s knuckles white as he gripped the banister in anticipation.

It wasn’t fine.

“I can’t make any decisions for you. You’ve never tried that on me, so it’s not…” he trailed off, trying to gather himself, trying to find the right words. “It doesn’t matter what it is,” he decided, lamely.

“I just don’t want to fight about it.”

Cero nodded weakly, “I don’t either.”

But. It was just avoidance, really. Trying to look away from the issue at hand because it was easier than talking it through, than figuring out the real implication of what was going on. Cero had a problem, and it wasn’t just affecting him, it was affecting the most important person in his life. He was blind to it. Preferred to look the other way with some semblance of a relieved smile as Anders pushed himself up from the chair.

He half expected Anders to leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he made his way up the stairs, ascending like some slow ethereal walk. In Cero’s mind. He watched Anders with anticipation and forgot half way through that he should let go of the banister. That he should maybe meet him half way. It was easier to just stare, wide eyed and mouth left open like some kind of love sick teenager. Anders was something. That was about all Cero had ever really known about him.

“Love,” Anders started, a little breathy. A little too soon, a little too fast, but he fell into Cero’s chest like he needed it. Arms wound around his waist, head tucked under his chin. It was ridiculous—Anders was just slightly taller, for how much Cero would deny it. But, it had never stopped him.

Then, quieter, “Cello,” a laugh.

Cero carded his fingers through the loose part of Anders’ hair. Once, twice, until he yanked the little tie from his hair too. Anders shuddered against him, and that did not go unnoticed.

“Are you sure this is even remotely wise?” Cero’s breath ghosted against his ear. Just as lost. He’d already answered his own question.

“Mmm,” Anders pressed into his neck, “don’t think so.”

It didn’t stop the sudden, desperate grasp. Anders nails into Cero’s side as he nipped into the flesh just above his collar. Cero dragged his fingers back through Anders’ hair, finding his grip at the base of his skull and yanking Anders back enough to fit their lips together. Slow, first, hesitant even. Just enough to let Anders know he could back away if this really wasn’t something they should be doing—with the arguing—but Anders pressed back incessantly. A mash of teeth, more than anything, while Cero worked in and around Anders’ belts. Even without his coat, there was still far too much clothing between them.

They walked backwards, tripping over each other’s feet. A trail of Anders’ clothing in their wake, until they slammed up against the door to Cero’s room. Closed after he’d changed. Anders groaned when his back hit. Cero swallowed it, pushing up against Anders and kissing him with renewed vigor. He licked along Anders bottom lip, just slightly chapped, and slipped his tongue inside. Anders melted, rutting his hips forward in attempt to find some relief. He knew Cero could feel him, getting hard, grinding into his thigh. He knew Cero was reveling in it too, the way he pushed his knee forward. To make it easier, pushing up between his thighs. Sliding his hands down Anders back, feeling the bumps and ridges of long healed over scars until he hit the waist band of his pants.

No hesitation this time as he slipped his hands farther down and gripped each cheek, kneading and rolling them between his fingers. Anders couldn’t contain his moan, and let his head fall back against the door as Cero started to trail his kisses. He started at the edge of his mouth, then down his chin, around his jaw. 

“Cello, Cello,” Anders groaned out his name, grasping at the hairs on the back of his neck. Trying to pull him back while he groped blindly for the door knob. But Cero had latched onto his ear lobe, pulling and biting just right. Anders was in danger of collapsing, his knees weak and hips working on their own. He could feel Cero just as hard, pushing back with slow, controlled movements. He was still so in control, so infuriating.

“Desperate,” Cero breathed, clearly amused.

“Mm, you’d like that,” followed by a sharp intake of breath as Cero nipped at his neck. Pulled at the skin. Pressed his lips to the same spot and kissed just gently enough that Anders forgot what he was trying to complain about. He relaxed, letting Cero’s hands grip into his ass and hold him steady. He was still kneading, pressing into the soft flesh and sending shivers up Anders’ spine. 

Cero pulled back just slightly, admiring the bruise forming on Anders neck. He’d cover Anders in marks if he were allowed. Instead:

“You don’t want it then?” just a breath across Anders’ ear, leaving him shuddering in Cero’s hold. Cero dipped his finger down into the cleft of Anders’ ass, just barely touching. Barely rubbing over his entrance, just enough to entice him. 

He was left with a half-broken moan, and Anders gripping at his shoulders. Doorknob forgotten. It was only an unamused grunt that reminded him of what he had been trying to do. They couldn’t forget their dwarven housemates, so Anders tried again.

“Cello, we have to…”

“Yeah,” Cero nodded, and pulled his hands back. Anders whimpered at the loss, but kept his arms securing around Cero’s neck as he worked the door open. They disappeared inside with only a silent nod of apology back towards Bohdan, who was descending back down the staircase.

Once inside, Anders had to let go long enough for Cero to close the door—and lock it, for good measure—to keep Glissandro out. A welcome guest at the worst of times, just not these particular times.

“So, about the whole wanting it thing—?”

He was cut off before he could finish his overly worried question by Anders. Hands immediately going to his hips as he crashed their mouths together. A fast, almost painful kiss, before Anders pulled back to get Cero’s shirt over his head.

“That thing is ugly,” and he was almost offended, but he spread out his hands over Cero’s chest before kissing him again. Softer, this time, less hurried and desperate. It didn’t stay that way. Cero slid his hands over Anders’ hips, pressing hard against his lips. They were wet, now, and slightly swollen. Maker, it was all Cero had dreamed of, and Anders easily accepted his tongue back into his mouth. Licking along the line of his teeth and walking him backwards towards the bed.

“I like it better on the floor anyway,” Cero’s voice had dropped into a low growl, and he pushed until Anders was back and sitting on the edge of the bed. He loomed over him, gripping the waist of his pants and yanking. It was a bit of a mess, and Anders was breathless with laughter by the time they managed to get them off. Laying back on the soft, red sheets. Naked. Hard. Dripping with precum and just laughing. 

“You’re a vision,” he could barely breath it out, crawling on the bed. Anders scooted back, resting against the mound of pillows, and spreading apart his legs to give Cero room to slide against him. He was still wearing his pants, but the feel of the soft material against his cock was not unwelcome.

Cero worked his mouth along Anders’ hipbone, licking alone the defined ridge. Kissing along the v-shape of his pelvis. The sound of Anders sucking in a sharp breath was enough to make him chuck against Anders skin. He moved up, along the faint lines of defined abs. Old scars, long healed. Up to Anders’ chest, where he stopped over a nipple. Anders was already trembling with want, with frustration at the way Cero just continued to ignore his need. But he gasped at the first feeling of tongue. It was nothing more than a slow roll of his tongue around the nub. Pressing against it, sucking just so. He brought his hand up to tweak at the other one, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Cello—” Anders took in a sharp breath, trying with abandon to work his hips against Cero’s leg. He worked his fingers back into Cero’s hair, tugging. Cero was nothing if not amused and pulled away to admire his handiwork. Anders’ nipple hardened into a peak and wet with saliva. 

“Your teasing,” Anders was breathless. Panting.

“Of course, love. Is there something else I should be doing?”

Anders wanted nothing more but to wipe that smirk off Cero’s face, but all he could manage was a helpless whimper. His hips worked of their own accord, bucking up and grinding into Cero’s. He needed this, and he could feel Cero’s own straining erection. This was so unbecoming—he was older than Cero. He should’ve been more composed, more in control. But Cero knew just how to touch him, knew just how to pick him apart piece by little piece.

He worked his hand between them, enough that he could grope Cero through his pants. The effect was immediate, and Cero gasped, tensed. Moved further up so he could press their foreheads together while his fingers worked over Anders’ chest. Tweaking his nipples, pulling and tugging while their panting breathes mingled.

“Please,” Anders whispered. It went straight to Cero’s cock, and Anders could feel the twitch in his hand. Cero liked when he begged.

“Yeah—yeah,” Cero gulped, and pulled away. He climbed off the bed and shimmied out of his pants. Anders tried not to groan as he watched Cero move about, pulling open he drawer of the desk. Cero was a warrior and hefted around an axe the size of his own body. It was apparent with the way that his arms rippled with every movement, and the way his torso was so defined. His strong thighs. The backside wasn’t so bad either.

“Hurry,” Anders gave in, and reached down to take hold of himself, stroking along his shaft as he watched Cero rummage. The way the muscles in his shoulders flexed. Anders pressed his thumb over the slit of his cock, spreading the dripping precum down. He groaned, letting his head lull back into the pillows.

“So impatient,” Cero chided, shaking his head as he moved back to the bed. When Anders felt the dip in the mattress, he opened his eyes again but did not stop his movements. He bucked his hips into his own hand, trying desperately to find some kind of release.

Cero didn’t try and stop him, simply ran his fingers teasingly light from Anders’ chest down to his naval. He had a vial in his hands. To take this further. But Anders had something else in mind and reached out to take Cero’s hip. He didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to say anything, just pull ever so slightly for Cero to knee along the bed, until he was close enough.

“You are…something,” Cero commented, but Anders didn’t reply. Certainly, less talkative than Cero, and that counted for something. He gulped, instead, and watched the subtle bounce of Cero’s cock between his legs with every shift of his hips. Maker, he wanted it. But, first things first. 

He licked his lips and gave himself one last tug before he changed focus. He wasted no time swallowing Cero’s cock, as much as he could handle without choking. The groan Cero let out was oh so satisfying, and Anders set to work quickly. Bobbing his head, moving his hand along just at the edge of his lips to jerk what he couldn’t reach. He moved slowly, stopping to tongue just under the head, along the bottom. The salty taste of precum on his tongue. He licked over the slit and pulled away completely to drag his tongue along the side.

Cero gripped Anders by his hair in a pathetic attempt to keep himself steady. To try and pull Anders back over his cock. His hips bucked of their own accord, seeking out that wet heat. But all Anders was willing to do was drag his tongue up and down. Along the protruding vein at the underside. Down to the base, where he kissed along Cero’s pelvis and down to his balls.

“Anders, love,” Cero gasped, and this time used his grip to pull Anders back. “I want—inside you.”

Anders hummed weakly in response and laid back down against the pillows. He wasn’t about to argue with something so sincere and was glad for a moment to have retained some of his composure. Glad to see Cero a little lost in the moment.

“I want that too,” Anders said. Just a simple admission, but it had Cero scrambling to fit back between his legs. It was almost too slow at first, a little torturous, the way Cero dragged his hands along Anders’ thighs. He wanted to mark them up, leave Anders covered in little bruises and kiss marks. But he knew better. Knew that it was something Anders didn’t want, so he didn’t press it. Instead, he leaned down to like a stripe along Anders’ neglected cock. The minute he’d started his attention on Cero, he’d forgotten himself. 

His cock was straining, leaking a mess onto his stomach. But, he one lick was all Cero would afford. Enough to make Anders just keen before he pulled away and busied with the vial. Taking his sweet time to get the stopper out, drizzling it over his fingers. The bottle was half empty already, and it brought a bit of a glint to Cero’s eye.

“Think we might need to ask Isabel—”

“Please don’t,” Anders groaned. He really did not want to talk about Isabela in bed. Anything but that. Still, the little chuckle Cero let out was enough to keep his mind in the present. Watching Cero coat his fingers and dip down between his legs. The anticipation was killing him.

“Cello—” followed by a gasp. The first swipe across his perineum had his thighs already trembling. Knees bending up and spreading wider, anything to encourage Cero to hurry. To do something.

His fingers trailed just lower, just enough to brush over the rim of Anders’ hole. The sudden spurt from his cock was embarrassing, and the deep laugh from Cero that followed made it worse. Anders covered his face with his hands, and only felt the sudden drag of oil slicked fingers across his stomach. Through the single white stripe, and they were gone again. Pressing at his entrance. One finger slipped inside with ease.

“You really want it,” Cero’s voice was a breathy laughed. Enamored at the way Anders twitched, how he just seemed to pull his finger in further. “Tell me how bad you want it, love.”

Anders whined at the sudden whisper, pressed up into his ear. Every slow drag of Cero’s finger inside him just punctuated his voice, the hot breath on his ear. He wound his arms up to grasp at Cero’s shoulders, dull nails digging into the skin there. He was desperate, and if that’s what it would take to get Cero to do something, then Anders was willing to lose a little dignity.

“I want it,” he was trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. “Please, Cero—I want you to hurry up.”

Another breathy laugh, and Cero pulled back just long enough to coat his fingers in more oil. Then, two fingers slipped inside. He pressed into the heat, feeling along the walls until his fingers had disappeared completely. Anders trembled. His thighs—shaking uncontrollably, and his hips bucking back. Trying to fuck himself on Cero’s fingers. He was desperate for release.

“Cero—!” the sudden stretch inside, Cero pushing his fingers apart and digging as deep as he could go. The movement brushed up just right, and Anders saw white. It was all he could do not to come, right there, and after a moment of stillness, dropped back down into the pillows.

“Intense?” Cero was teasing him. Still. After all this garbage, and Cero was still teasing him.

“Yes—hurry. Cero—Cello, Maker, I need you,” he was rambling, babbling anything he thought would get Cero to work a little faster. Maybe it was just Cero’s own growing lust, but suddenly there were three fingers plunging in and out of his heat. The stretch just so, just enough that Anders was pushing back down against them. Trying hard to hold back his voice like he hadn’t already thrown his decency out the window and into the harbor. To drown.

Anders dropped his arms back down to the sheets below, gripping into them with whatever strength he had left. He wanted to last long enough to make it past the damned foreplay Winding his hands up in the fabric was the only way he could keep his hands off his weeping cock. Maker, he wanted to come.

“I’m ready—it’s fine, I’m ready. Cello, please,” Anders groaned. Trying to lift his hips all while working himself down on those fingers. All too fast, they were gone. The fastest Cero had moved that night, and it was to leave Anders a groaning, empty mess. He pushed his hips again, searching for anything.

Cero went straight to work, though, and dripped the oil over his cock. He jerked his hand over it quickly, spreading the oil, pushing the precum at the tip down along his shaft. Patience thin. 

“Up, c’mon,” Cero gestured with his clean hand, and Anders raised up his legs—arms hooked under his knees. It was like he was presenting himself, and Cero melted for it every time. He moved as close as he could get, thighs up flush beneath Anders’. Skin to skin. Anders let one leg drop to Cero’s shoulder to free up a hand, one he used to pull at his ass.

“Cero—please.”

Cero brushed the tip of his cock along the cleft of Anders’ ass, just barely catching the rim of his hole with every pass. Teasing Anders was just too much fun. It turned him on to watch Anders just fall apart. He was always so composed and in control, with his magic, with the clinic—the way he handled Cero. This was one-time Cero could break him down.  
But, even his patience had its limit, and he finally pushed forward with one, heavy thrust. The head of his cock breached easily, and Cero went slow from there. Watching the way Anders stretched to take him.

“Maker, you are gorgeous,” Cero was simply enamored with the site. Disappearing inside of his skinny mage lover. Everything he could’ve ever dreamed of, and better each time they coupled together. 

He pushed forward, the same slow, shallow movement until he was fully seated. Hips pressed flush up against the curve of Anders’ ass, and only then did Anders let his legs fall around Cero’s hips. Let his hands drop to the sheets below him. Anders was left lying there, trembling and shaking at the feeling. Cero had kept him waiting so long that this was all it took. One gentle pull back to brush against his prostate, and he let out a high-pitched moan. Back arching, hips bucking, rutting back against Cero as he came in bursts between them.

“Oh, Anders,” Cero ran his hands up Anders’ sides, then firmly planting them in the mattress at his shoulders and leaned down to steal a kiss. A quick, chaste little peck. Anders was expecting Cero to laugh again, but he had a lost look of adoration in his eyes. Just staring down at Anders as he slowly rolled his hips, and each roll sent a new wave of pleasure up through Anders’ spine.

“That was beautiful, love. Is it okay?” he whispered. The roll of his hips was slow, but deliberate. Intended to be just enough to keep Anders going, but just not that he could stop if it was too much. But, ever the fighter, Anders nodded.

“I’ve waited all night for this, you don’t get to stop.”

Cero did laugh after that, but it was short and breathy. Less amused and more completely and utterly taken. A ridiculous amount of love, and he pressed their lips together again. It was more intense this time. Fast paced, tongue, wet. And Cero moved his hips to match the pace. Quick, sharp. Angled just so that in Anders’ state, it was almost too much. He was overstimulated, but the brush against his insides was so perfect. He groaned into their kisses, into Cero’s skin as he started to trail his kisses along the side of Anders’ face. His cock was already growing interested again, half hard after just a few moments.

“Cero—oh, Cero,” Anders gasped with each pointed thrust. Each tug and pull and stretch of his hole. Cero was grinding into him, then. Switching between rolling his hips and just rutting into him. Andres squeezed around him, involuntarily, as he felt another wave of heat rush over him.  
Cero reached down between them and wrapped his fingers around Anders’ cock. Coaxing him back to full hardness and jolting him to attention. Anders threw his head back, back arching at the sudden feeling. His neck was left exposed, and Cero couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and ran his tongue along the column of Anders’ throat. Pressed kisses there, and around, until the junction of his collarbone. He kissed there, again, gently, and bit down to follow. Anders groaned, and gripped into Cero’s shoulders again.

“I’m close—Maker, Anders, you’re so good for me. Look at you,” Cero’s broken mumbling into the skin of Anders’ neck. His thrusts had slowed, and instead he was rolling his hips. Determined, deep and completely slow. But each move brushed the head of his cock against Anders’ prostate, and it was almost too much with how his hand was still working furiously around Anders’ shaft.

“You can come again for me, can’t you? I want to see it. I want to see you come—want to feel it.”

Anders groaned in response, and he was already beginning to feel that tight coil of heat around his hips. Cero’s hand worked relentlessly, squeezing just so each time his fingers worked around the head. Tugging with each pull down. Just in time with the way the grind of his hips stuttered into shallow thrusts. 

“Cero—Cello, oh—I’m close,” Anders nearly whined. His fingernails were digging back into Cero’s shoulders, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d scratched the skin there bad enough he might need to tend to it later. The worry was enough that he pulled his hands away, opting instead to cradle Cero’s head in his hands. Brushing his fingers along Cero’s prickly cheeks and jaw.

“You can do it, love. Come for me,” Cero pushed. Punctuated, heavy thrusts. They were just staring into each other, gazes unyielding. Anders was trying to ignore the swollen eye and focused instead on the grey of his irises. He was messy, and they’d both be sore beyond belief in the morning, but this was still everything he could’ve asked for.  
Seconds later, he succumbed to Cero’s command and spilled into Cero’s hand. It was intense, and his eyes rolled back as his back arched. He saw white in his vision and rode it out. Cero fucked him through it, mercilessly, with the last of his energy. His thighs were straining at the exertion, but the way Anders clenched around him was so perfect. He pulled back just in time to come, streaking white across the well-used hole and the inside of Anders’ thighs. 

After a moment of hovering in limbo, riding out his orgasm, Cero dropped down on the bed beside Anders. The mattress protested under his weight, and bounced them both, and Anders laughed. He didn’t make any moves, all too aware of the sticky mess between his legs. But, he didn’t protest when Cero curled into his side, arm draped across his chest and holding him close.

“We really should clean up,” Anders tried.

Cero groaned in response, “Later.”

It really wasn’t something Anders could argue, not when Cero strained just enough to give him a lingering, close-mouthed kiss. Long enough to stir something up, but short enough that it was clear it was a goodnight kiss. Anders chuckled to himself when Cero collapsed down beside him, face pressed into his shoulder. The warm, sweaty skin of his shoulder. It was comforting, and it didn’t take long for either of them to drift off in the comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little goodbye present, and later down the road, Cero comes to a decision that he can't take back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh i reached the end of what I had pre-typed like last chapter, and i'm the world's slowest writer between work and college and falling asleep on the couch when I should be doing things.

Anders was still there, curled up against Cero’s chest when he woke up. The sight was enough to threaten his heart beat and steal his breath from him. Anders. Still there. He had never spent the night with Cero—not since the first one. The key hadn’t been enough, the invitation to live there, the invitations to stay that followed. But, whatever was going on now had been enough. Maybe it was just their strenuous activity, but Cero was thankful for it nonetheless. He curled himself over next, draping an arm low on Anders’ hips to keep him there. Keep him warm.

It was a short-lived moment, as Anders stirred the second Cero had pulled him closer. His wake up was less like a fairy tale of eyelids fluttering and happy good morning kisses, and more like a sudden jolt before he was sitting straight up. Shoulders heaving. With the heavy fog of morning still heavy over Cero, he didn’t even bother to open his eyes. Didn’t notice.

“G’morning,” he did greet.

“Morning, Love,” Anders voice was shaky, but he had mostly calmed himself. He turned slightly, arms folded around his chest as his only shield from the morning chill, to look at Cero. Neither of them had had the foresight to utilize the covers the night before, and the prickly goose bumps that covered Anders skin was evidence enough.

“Come on,” Cero opened his arms, one eye open, “let me keep you warm.”

Anders frowned, “We _really_ need to get cleaned up. I need to get to the clinic, and—”

The droopy, sleepy smile on Cero’s face fell immediately, and his arm dropped with a dramatic slap against his side, “Right.”

He wasn’t trying to pout. Rather, he was frustrated, and really trying to be angry. If it wasn’t so early in the morning, he might have succeeded better, but whatever look was on his face had Anders lying back down next to him. It took a bit of maneuvering to get Cero to move his arms, but moments later, Anders was tucked up beneath Cero’s chin, face pressed into his neck. Arm around his waist. He was at least right about one thing, it was warm.

“I’m sorry,” Anders muttered.

“Now you’re just taking pity on me,” he wasn’t wrong, but Anders grunted in disapproval. He didn’t immediately say anything to correct Cero, or to at least ease his discomfort. Instead, he traced idle patterns over Cero’s shoulder blade. Feeling over some of the scratches from the night before.

“I haven’t ever—not with you. It’s just…strange,” Anders decided.

“How so?”

Anders exhaled a shaky breath and let his eyes close. He took a moment to just revel in the feel of Cero. Just existing. The weight of his arm, the warmth of his skin, the puff of breath against his hair, and the rise and fall of his chest with each one.

“It just doesn’t feel real. Doesn’t feel like I deserve it.”

“Everybody deserves to sleep in every now and again,” Cero pressed a kiss into Anders’ hair. Squeezed his hip. Talking about it was hard, and even now, they weren’t at eye level. Couldn’t look at each other. Fumbling around awkwardly like this was the first relationship either of them had ever had.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” but the sentiment was appreciated all the same, and Anders buried his face into Cero’s chest. He gripped onto Cero like he was his life line, and just let his eyes drift close.

It was getting harder each passing second to ignore the dry, sticky feeling between his thighs, but he could hold on just a bit longer. Long enough to feel the prickling of sleep back behind his eyelids, and then he just had to sigh. He really couldn’t afford to go back to sleep, and the way that Cero just rubbed so gently along the small of his back wasn’t helping. One moment longer, gripping into his shoulders, before Anders pushed back just inches.

“ _Please,_ don’t go. Anders—” Cero was cut off when Anders pressed his fingers into his lips.

“I’m not. It’s just,” he squirmed slightly, just to really highlight it, “really uncomfortable. Help me?”

Cero breathed a sigh of relief, then pressed an open-mouthed kiss into Anders’ neck. He was up a moment later, springing to life out of the bed with some new-found energy. Even if he moved a little stiffly, Cero still was recovering nicely. Even the swelling in his eye was going down. But, none of it was enough to keep him down, to keep him from scooping Anders right up into his arms.

“You really need to eat some better food,” he chided.

Anders rolled his eyes, “I eat fine.”

Cero didn’t argue, but it was a mental note anyway. Invite Anders to dinner more often. Even if it would be him preparing it now instead of his mother, surely, he wasn’t so incapable of existing he couldn’t cook a simple meal every now and again. Even if he was, Orana could help him out. She was fond enough of Cero to help him out. And maybe she’d be found enough of Anders to _feed_ him. It was decided.

Speaking of Orana, though, Cero really needed to pay her every piece of gold he could get his hands on at all times. She was so thoughtful, even if some of it was just brought on by nervousness. Cero was expecting to have to take an extra year and a half to fill up the bath, but there it was, already full to the brim with warm water. Well.

“Lukewarm,” he grimaced when he stuck his hand into it.

“If someone hadn’t been so insistent on sleeping longer, you might have found it while it was still warm,” Anders said. He was laughing, on the inside, where it counted. On the outside, just a smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, like you hated it.”

Anders really didn’t and was happy to slink into the tub with Cero seated behind him. There was a stinging feeling that was telling Anders he needed to hurry things along, get back to the grind, as it were. But he couldn’t deny the feeling of Cero’s hands at his neck was something to die for. Just the gentle roll of his fingertips into his sore muscles. He hadn’t even realized he was sore until Cero was expertly working it out of his system.

Maybe it really wasn’t so bad to just relax for a minute. To think about himself for a few hours. Or, rather, to think about those fingers working there way down his back, between his shoulder blades and down the length of his spine. Anders could already feel his growing arousal. A subtle heat just growing as Cero’s hands worked lower, around to his sides and back up to his chest.

“You’ve really got some tension to work out, love,” Cero said. His voice, deep.

“I hate you, you tease,” Anders replied, absolutely elated as Cero pressed into his chest. It started at his sternum and felt innocent enough. It didn’t mean anything less, though, and Anders couldn’t help himself. He tried to be subtle about it, but with the amused breathy laugh on his neck, he knew Cero was watching. Watched him grab at his half hard cock and stroke it lazily.

“Now, now, you know that wasn’t the point. We’re supposed to get you _clean_ for your big day at the clinic.”

Anders gave a weak slap to Cero’s thigh, under the water. It couldn’t have possibly hurt, but it was enough to make him squeak. Cero made no further comment and continued to massage into Anders’ chest. He moved lower, ever slightly, ever slowly, until he had his fingers over each of Anders’ nipples. Pressing into them, rolling them. Just a sweet, innocent massage. He tweaked them both, hard, and tugged.

“Cello—” Anders’ head hit back onto Cero’s shoulder, and he groaned, pressing his face into Cero’s neck. He was still working himself beneath the water, in slow strokes.

“Absolutely insatiable.”

Cero hummed and pulled his hands away. The long groan Anders let out did not go unnoticed. It did go ignored, as Cero leaned back and relaxed against the side of the tub, his arms up on the edge. He let Anders just write back against him, shivering with each slow tug of his flesh. He was lost in his own world, eyes tightly shut, and lips parted. His chest was heaving, breath hot. An absolute vision—astounding.

“Look at you, just having all that fun by yourself,” Cero was breathless, twirling his fingers through Anders’ hair. It was just slightly damp, mostly from the water droplets dripping from Cero’s hand.

“You have another job, remember?” Anders muttered into his neck. With each word, his lips rubbed against Cero’s skin. “Aren’t you supposed to clean me up? Get me ready for the day?” a breathy laugh. He was ready to play whatever weird game Cero had in mind.

“But watching you is just so rewarding,” Cero slid his hand down, around and under Anders’ jaw to hold his head in place while he kissed him. Lingering, slow, closed-mouthed kisses around his lips. When Anders tried to push back, tried to get a better angle, the hand on his neck kept him in the same position. It wasn’t tight, wasn’t uncomfortable. Just held him in place while Cero peppered him.

Anders gasped into one of the kisses, his back arching just slightly. He tightened his grip over himself, trying to fuck himself in his hand. He didn’t even have the wherewithal to kiss back when Cero brushed their lips together. He just groaned, panted, pathetically let Cero lick along the inside of his bottom lip. The way he trembled was breathtaking, and Cero couldn’t be an innocent bystander after that.

“Alright, you’ve won me over.”

He kept his hand where it was, caressing along the line of Anders’ throat. His other one, though. Finally, he pulled his arm from its perch on the side of the tub and slipped his fingers down Anders’ torso. Anders responded almost immediately, shifting to pull his knees up and spread his legs. Cero started slow, just like he always did, because he liked to draw it out and see just how far he could push Anders before he floundered. He began with just the barest amount of soap, stroking along Anders’ thigh and curling around. Anders sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep himself composed. It took every ounce of discipline he had to pace himself with the barest of touches over his cock.

Cero’s hand worked around the inside of his thighs, each one in time and just as slow as he’d been moving this whole time. He rolled the soft flesh between his fingers, massaging deeply into his muscles. He kept up his light little kisses, loving the way Anders had no other choice but to groan against his lips. There was a sudden pitch in his voice when Cero’s hand bumped into the underside of his cock. He trailed just slightly downward, over his balls, and pressed gently along his perineum. Anders was shaking.

“Don’t you come, alright?” just a little challenge, followed up immediately with a brush of his fingertips over Anders’ puckered hole. It was all he could do _not_ to come, and he clamped his hand around the base of his cock. He tried to think about anything after that, anything but the way Cero’s finger dipped inside. The stretch, the smooth push. Just knowing it was Cero’s fingers pressing along inside his heat.

The slide was so easy, a slow in and out, rubbing along. Anders _almost_ forgot what they were doing, but the memory jolted back at the sudden emptiness as Cero pulled back. He was gone for just a hair too long, enjoying the way Anders’ hips worked themselves. Searching.

“Cello, c’mon,” a pathetic whimper.

Cero leaned his forehead into Anders’, and almost laughed. It came out as a heavy breath, and he had stupid grin on his face. “This was not supposed to be this way.” It wasn’t even his fault this time. But, he didn’t refuse.

This time, Cero pressed two fingers inside, and moved his other hand to help Anders’. They worked in tandem over his straining erection. The water made the work easy, and even better on top of Cero’s fingers pushing him apart from the inside. It didn’t make more than a few strong strokes to have Anders coming undone and shooting into the water. Cero made sure to work it out of him, fondling over his balls with one hand and using the other to keep that delicious pressure going along the underside of his shaft.

“Good job, Love,” Cero muttered, pressing a kiss into his temple.

“Yeah, thanks for the support,” Anders clearly couldn’t be trusted a second longer. They kissed just a little longer, soft little pecking touches, before Anders hoisted himself out of the water. His thighs were still sore, and the roll over the edge of the tub reminded him so were his hips. But, there was more to the day than lazing about with Cero, that much was sure.

Cero followed suit, and it wasn’t until he was pulling out of the water that Anders became aware of the straining need hanging between his thighs. Anders was almost _offended_ that Cero had neither told him nor that he’d neglected to notice it. It had no doubt been pressed right up against the small of his back. He gulped, just staring at it. This was going to get dangerous, fast, but pulling his eyes away just seemed like too much effort. Especially when Cero was doing absolutely nothing to hide it.

“How soon do you need to get down there? You can just go through the cellar, you know, if you’re in a rush,” Cero was grabbing at towels. He tossed one towards Anders, who didn’t notice it until it had flopped uselessly on the floor.

“I can, uh,” Anders stared at the towel for a moment. “I’m sure I have a bit more time.”

Cero was about to say something, but it died on his lips as Anders dropped down to his knees in front of him.

 

\-- 

 

They were left with Anders rushing out the door, grateful for the first time in his life that the cellar of the Hawke Manor dropped directly down into Darktown. He was already, undoubtedly hours behind his normal routine. Even then, all he could think about was that flutter in his chest at how Cero had sent him off: a quick kiss on the cheek, telling him to be safe, and even inviting him back to dinner. He said no strings attached, that if Anders didn’t show, he’d be okay. But, like the first night, he’d leave the doors unlocked. Only this time, it was Cero’s invitation and not Anders’ ultimatum.

Still. It was something to think about, and Anders found himself distracted most of the day. For most of the following week, continuing this strange routine. Anders would or would not stay at the Manor, and he would or would not be several hours late to what he was _supposed_ to be doing. On nights where he didn’t stay over, he would return to his downtrodden little part of Darktown and stare blankly for a few moments. The sleeping conditions were really _widely_ different, and he found he slept better in Cero’s bed than he ever had down on his cot. Then, he would look over at the stack of parchment—his manifesto. He was working so furiously hard on it, and so many nights it would lay there forgotten because he was elsewhere. Doing things that didn’t matter so much.

_Indulging._

On nights where he stayed with Cero, they were always up into the wee hours of the morning. Talking, sometimes; they would just lay in the bed wrapped up in the feeling of one another and talk about the day’s events, about the future. About anything. Inevitably, Cero would ask Anders if he had thought about his offer. Anders said he hadn’t had much time to think on it, and it was always easier at that point to roll over him and quiet his inquiries with kisses.

It was becoming a problem, his natural inclination to just make Cero stop talking. He didn’t want to talk about the important things: moving in, the lyrium. Anything, really. He preferred the small talk, even if he knew it wasn’t right. Even though he knew that Cero was _desperate_ for a real talk. That look in his eyes gave it away, every time, but he gave in quickly. At some point, Anders knew he was going to have to realize he was just taking advantage of the situation.

Cero didn’t really have it in his heart to say no to anybody, especially not Anders.

He was lost in his thoughts about it, rummaging through the makeshift desk in the corner of the clinic. So, lost in his thoughts, in fact, that he didn’t hear the telltale scuffling of boots. Someone had entered the clinic, but the sound died down after a second. Anders still hadn’t caught on, but when the would-be patient cleared their throat, Anders whirled around.

“Cello?”

Cero was there, standing awkwardly in the middle of the clinic. Like he didn’t belong there. And he really didn’t, not in Darktown. Not wearing all his new finely tailored clothing and strapping leather boots—the scene was just strange and made him look out of place. By the look on his face, he no doubt felt out of place. There was a none too attractive grimace on his face, and his brows were tightly knitted together. Anyone who didn’t know him—didn’t know Cero Hawke—would think he was just disgusted by the rat droppings. It was just incredible discomfort.

“What are you doing here? You look lost,” Anders couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled himself away from his work. If it could really be called that.

“I think I know exactly where I am,” he frowned in response, then vaguely gestured outward. “Your sewer house.”

Anders rolled his eyes.

“I was going to stop by this evening,” Anders, instead, insisted. “Couldn’t this have waited until then?”

Cero shook his head, “No—well, I mean. Maybe,” he cleared his throat, then shifted to stand his weight on one foot. “Probably. But, I’m here. You could pretend to be happier about it.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” Anders folded his arms across his chest, an amused smirk on his lips. Cero’s face immediately went red, and he couldn’t maintain eye contact. Instead, he found a particularly interest spec of dirt on the ground to look at instead.

“No—sorry. I’m just,” he tried to cover up his nervousness with a badly timed, fake cough. Then settled for rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted to his other foot.

Anders dropped his smirk, and his arms, and regarded Cero with something much gentler. Curiosity, worry, almost, as he approached.

“You’re acting strange.”

“I bet I am,” Cero laughed weekly. He shifted, again, and still hadn’t brought his gaze up to meet Anders’. He’d never been this nervous, about anything. Not Anders, not the Arishok, not even Meredith. But, somehow this just seemed a feat more daunting. His mind wracked with what ifs and could haves. Things he didn’t really want to ponder.

“Cello,” Anders reached a tentative hand along the scruff of Cero’s jaw, turning his head almost forcibly. Even then, Cero’s eyes were downcast.

“I need your, um,” he cleared his throat; he was fiddling his thumbs at his waist, elbows loosely bent. “Help.”

Anders raised an eyebrow, “Is that all? You’ve asked for it plenty of times—”

“But it’s not bandits and haunted houses this time,” Cero caught him off. He’d finally met Andes’ eyes, and he looked— _terrified_? Anders gulped.

“Are you alright?” this was suddenly far more serious than Anders had thought. So much for a pleasant stroll through Darktown, he supposed. There was a bit of a wild look in Cero’s eyes, and he was fidgeting more than was normal.

“I need _help_ , Anders,” and suddenly, Cero was gripping into Anders’ biceps, fingernails digging in through the fabric of his coat. If Anders hadn’t been so caught up with worry, he might have taken time to notice that it _hurt_. “I haven’t. I need to,” he took a second to breathe. “I need to stop,” Cero’s voice came out nothing more than a broken whisper.

“Maker,” Anders breathed. He understood immediately, and the two dropped down to the floor of the clinic when Cero began to heave.

“How long?” Anders asked, taking careful pains to be gentle with each caress he made through Cero’s hair.

“Three days,” he spat in response. “Three,” softer this time. “It hurts.”

Anders gulped as he thought this over. This wasn’t going to be an easy task. This wasn’t a simple fix. This wasn’t something Anders could heal and would make it go away. That alone was enough to scare him, but even more so that he was helpless to it all. It just had to run its course. All Anders could do was make sure Cero had food and water, hope he didn’t die. Pray to the Maker that he didn’t die. How many Templars had died trying to stave off lyrium addiction?

“I know, I know,” Anders muttered. He cradled Cero’s head against his chest, while Cero tightly wound his arms about Anders’ waist. They stayed like that for some time, long enough that Anders could feel that tell-tale tingle in his calves from the uncomfortable position. But, he didn’t make his discomfort known, and instead, just held onto Cero. He was shivering, and his nails were no doubt leaving marks on Anders’ skin, even through his clothing. The scene was pathetic, or would have been, if Anders hadn’t known what the cause was. Or what it threatened yet to bring.

“We need to get you home,” Anders finally decided on. The subtly of his breath against Cero’s hair was all it took to bring him back to reality, and he realized, all too quickly, what he was doing. His grip suddenly loosened, and he pulled back slightly to sit on his own haunches; his arms remained loose at Anders’ sides.

“I…” Cero tried, but he swallowed down his words instead. He waited, silently, for anything other than having to say something himself.

“You’re such a child sometimes,” Anders chided, but he didn’t turn away, didn’t turn Cero away either. For as exasperated as he was, he still stood up and dragged Cero with him. He took a moment to dust Cero off, to straighten his clothing, before he cleared his throat and stepped back just enough that if Cero couldn’t keep himself standing, someone would be there to catch him.

“Can you make it home?” Anders asked.

Cero nodded, “Sorry to have bothered you,” but his voice seemed strained, his eyes—elsewhere. Out of focus. Looking through Anders instead of at him. They must have not seen how he frowned, either.

“I’m coming with you. You think I could just let you go in this condition?”

The way Cero shifted uncomfortably was answer enough, and Anders _really_ rolled his eyes at that. A part of him understood, partially. This thing—them—it was new. Cero was new, and to him, Anders was new. This doubt, if that’s what it was, was to be expected. They hadn’t known each other long enough—deeply enough—to move past this. They were each so focused on something else, something bigger, and it just came back to rear its ugly head at the worst of times.

Anders thought himself selfish for asking Cero to stave off lyrium, and Cero thought himself selfish for trying to stay on it. They were just tiptoeing around each other in some dance of stupidity, and Anders was ready to stamp his foot down instead.

“Come on, Cello,” Anders stumbled a bit under Cero’s weight, when he took the invitation as an excuse to lose all his strength, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Cero was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Don’t expect me to sit at your bedside like some about-to-be-widowed wife,” Anders muttered, but there was a playfulness in his voice that Cero had grown accustomed to. Comfortable around.

“I would never,” he managed to choke out. A strangled laugh followed, and it was enough for the moment. This was just something else on the list of things they had to work through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments are well appreciated! Updates are going to be super slow from here, fair warning, but I hope to have some more to show by next week. I am determined to finish this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the nightmares start, worse than he could've ever imagined, Cero decided it was time to take the next step and throw all of his problems into the sea. He can't much leave the house, so Anders does it for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who crawled out of the gutter. Me. I've got a few new projects I want to start, but I figured I should try to finish this. To at least prove to myself that I'm capable of finishing something. I'm thinking probably two or three more chapters, but I guess we'll see.

Shuffling Cero into bed proved a difficult task enough on its own. Anders tried not to be so sure that half of the dramatics were just that—dramatic histrionics meant to gain his attention, but with the way Cero was groaning it was hard not to. On the other hand. Anders tried not to bite his lip as he looked over Cero—the labored breathing was real enough, and Anders had no experience with this type of thing. It was hard to say one way or the other, if Cero was faking anything. How long had he been on lyrium again?

The next course of action was simple enough, and Anders knew well enough how to go about it. They’d practiced it several times, of course—undressing. Cero couldn’t very well lie in bed in his stuff clothes and boots for however long it took this to pass. Weeks? Months? Anders had heard that some templars _died_ from this excursion, and some went mad.

“Maybe…” Anders started, and he hadn’t even realized he said anything until Cero’s big grey eyes were trained on him. At first, he’d just assumed Cero was watching the removal of his boots; he liked to watch Anders, as strange as it could be, and Anders didn’t mind being watched. But this was a shocked, pleading glare.

“Don’t you dare say that,” Cero croaked out. The regret was written all over Anders’ face in worry lines and a furrowed brow. “I know the risks.”

Anders shook his head, dropping Cero’s first boot to the floor. He started working on the lacings of the second one, “I can believe in your fighting skill well enough, I’ve seen it. You weren’t in danger of _dying_ when you faced the Arishok. This?”

Anders eyes just seemed to darken at the thought, dropping Cero’s second boot to the floor. “I’ve never seen you survive something like this,” he said, no louder than a whisper.

“It’s either this, or—” Cero stopped short, groaning and turning to his side, “or you spend the rest of your life half afraid of me. I’ll die either way.”

Anders went stiff at the insinuation. He understood, but it wasn’t evident enough. Cero kept going.

“I know how you feel about the lyrium,” he was barely mumbling, like it hurt to talk, like his mind was elsewhere, but he pushed forward. “You don’t like it. Makes me a real templar, reminds you of your abusers. I get it. Nobody ever asked you to love that side of me—I don’t even…”

Anders watched him carefully adjust on the bed and resumed his slow work. He started with Cero’s shirt, hoping that working the tight material off over his head would muffle anything Cero was about to say. Things he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear.

“I did it for Bethany, I can undo it for you. I don’t want to ever think that you think I can hurt you— _would_ hurt you. It’s just—” and off came the shirt, finally, and Cero was smart enough to stop talking while it came over his head, tugging just so at his chin that it hurt when his head finally popped free. “—kills me to think that. I’d rather die trying to fix it than have to be so guilty. Maybe I’m selfish.”

Anders could feel the sweat forming on his brow, and he gingerly bit at the inside of his lip as he listened. He hated this. Maker, he hated all of this. These talks were so difficult, and Cero couldn’t even keep eye contact while he spoke. It was all too new. Too strange to feel so close so fast, almost. It had been years, but it felt little in comparison to the past weeks.

“I don’t want to see you risk yourself, but…” Anders took a deep sigh, and glanced down into his lap where his hands were folded. He used his thumb to feel along his fingernails. They were longer than he would’ve liked, and he contemplated filing them down instead of thinking about the situation at hand.

They were actively discussing Cero’s _inevitable_ death. Cero didn’t even dare to think there was a chance he would survive this, and he still was actively trying to break the addiction.

“I can’t even admit it to myself, Maker,” Anders trailed off and dropped his head into his hands. He had never felt so defeated, and the sting of guilt washed over him as he felt Cero’s fingers deftly wrapping around his wrist. Cero was trying to tug his hands away, make him look up, make him continue the conversation. A conversation they needed to have.

“Anders,” just a silent, awful plea. Anders shuddered.

“I want you to stop taking lyrium,” he said. Every word punctuated with a slow, heaving breath; Anders couldn’t look up.

Cero gave a reassuring squeeze. “I want that too,” he whispered.

His pants were the last thing to come off, and it was more of a struggle than the previous articles had been. Whatever energy Cero had found to give his speech had drained out of him immediately, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open. But, they managed to wiggle his pans off his hips, and they went into the pile of clothing on the floor. Anders let his gaze linger over the pile, for a moment, and thought it might be prudent to pick them up. He didn’t know where Cero kept his dirty laundry, or if he’d ever consider a once worn outfit dirty, and after one glance over, he knew Cero was in no position to even answer such a silly—domestic—question.

“Do you want me to stay?” Anders asked instead. A question he’d never asked, never had to ask, before.

Cero was already half asleep but managed a weak nod. He even shifted just slightly, turned towards the inside of the bed. The other half was vacant, as Anders always imagined it was. Cero never was one for sleeping in the middle, and even less so under the guise that Anders might _actually_ move in with him. Even more so that Anders was considering it now. It was a terrifying thought—something domestic, something permanent. Something he didn’t think he’d ever have. But, for another night. It was getting harder and harder to deny that part of him that wanted, so desperately, to stay.

He shrugged off his coat, on the floor with everything else. His boots, by the fireplace, then his shirt—and this time, Anders even left the door just slightly open. He knew if he ever wanted to live here, there was no way Glissandro was going to give up his place in Cero’s bed without a fight, so he might as well start getting used to it.

What awoke him next wasn’t what he had assumed—Glissandro’s slobbering drool and snoring, but rather a sudden shout. Thrashing. The barking came second, but an afterthought, a ringing in Anders’ ear. He hadn’t even realized he was up, moving, until he was straining to keep Cero down. Pinned to the bed. The shouting had died into low groans, but he was shaking. Bucking against Anders, fighting the hold on his wrists.

“—Cero!”

His gasp was more a sudden intake—choking on his own breath as his eyes flew open. Anders, there, wide eyed and panting almost just as hard.

Anders.

There.

Looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

After a moment passed of just staring, helplessly, at each other, it was over. Just like that. Over. Anders sucked in a breath before his arms just gave out, and he dropped face first into Cero’s chest. He knocked whatever breath Cero had left right out of him, in a comedic _oof_ , but Cero’s arms came up around his shoulders anyway. Anders let his eyes close, let himself listen to the silence. It was all he could do to focus on the subtle beat of Cero’s heart, so loud like it was ready to beat out of his chest.

“Are you alright?” Anders whispered. It was a dumb question, but Cero’s arms tightened around him.

“No,” he wasn’t about to lie.

“What was the dream about?”

Cero let out a hefty sigh and just shook his head. He didn’t have to answer. He didn’t have an answer. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to remember it. Instead, he just sought to ground himself for a moment, to let his eyes close and grip his fingernails into Anders’ arms and remember that he was _here_ , not there. Not wherever he had been. Wherever he would surely go back to—

“You don’t have to stay,” he finally decided on.

That gave Anders pause, and he hummed in thought as he shifted off to the side, back down onto the mattress. He kept his head tucked up into Cero’s side so that his toes hung off the end of the bed. The blankets were already destroyed; there was nothing to keep him from tugging them further out. He played at it for a moment, trying to ignore the deafening stillness between them. Cero really hadn’t even realized what he’d said, hadn’t noticed it. It was so easy to tell Anders he could just leave if he wanted—it’s all they’d been doing since that first night. And now, well, Cero knew this wasn’t going to be the first night interrupted by night terrors. Even now, he was shaking.

Still, Anders shifted inward to lean almost entirely against Cero, his arm draped over Cero’s waist. One more moment passed before Anders could not stand it any longer, and he sucked in a deep breath.

“I think I’ll just have to move in with you.”

Cero stilled. Deathly still. Anders pushed himself up onto his elbow just to look over his face, to make sure that he wasn’t dying. Only, dying seemed to be the last thing that would be happening tonight. Through that glaze of tiredness over his eyes, his wide curious eyes, there was shock. Enjoyment. _Love_.

“I—” Cero started, but he stopped short. The nightmare had left him hot—sweaty—gross, and his hair was pasted to his forehead in all strange ways and shapes. Anders had a smile on his face, a little glint in his eye, and—Maker, he was beautiful—he was just staring down at Cero. His fingers, gentle as they stroked along his forehead, brushing the damp hair down to the side.

“You look awful,” Anders said.

Cero’s laugh was more a pathetic huff of breath, but he was smiling too. There was nothing in particular that he needed to say. He didn’t need to acknowledge what Anders’ had said, and he didn’t even need to comment on it. Anders knew. Cero knew. He didn’t really need anything else.

He dropped his head back against the pillow and let out a deep sigh. A passing thought drifted on that maybe they should change the sheets, or at least lay on top of the blankets instead of whatever had managed to soak up sweat. That’s all it was though, a passing thought, because Anders was snoring quietly seconds later.

 

__

 

Through the rest of the night, Cero dazed in and out of consciousness. Never once did he truly fall asleep, but there were missing chunks through the night. Moments where he woke back up with a start, where he noticed that Anders had moved away, moved back. But he never left. It was just a matter of the proximity, and it was something Cero had never really noticed before: how wild a sleeper Anders was. It was enough to make the hours pass by well enough, and at some point, the jolt that woke him up came from the springs of the mattress.

Anders was there, perched on the side of the bed, tugging on his boots. He was already dressed, shoulders still nicely relaxed from a night of uninterrupted sleep. Whatever sudden pang of jealously that shot through him was immediately replaced by realization of what boots and clothing meant. No nightmare could’ve ever concocted this, Anders leaving after he had promised to _stay_ , to _move in_ , and Cero wasn’t thinking straight when he reached out and grabbed onto Anders’ bicep.

“Cello? Morning, love,” Anders said, such a soft smile on his face that Cero’s breath caught up in his throat.

“Where are you going?” still, he couldn’t shake the anxiety bubbling up in his chest, and his voice was a mere croak.

Anders’ smile fell immediately as it dawned on him, the meaning of Cero’s look. Why there was a crushing grip on his arm, why Cero looked like he was moments away from breaking down. Anders left his boot half unlaced in turn for crawling partially on the bed. The sheets were already a disaster, so he didn’t bother to make sure his shoes steered clear. It was more important that he crossed the width of the bed. Cero was sweating again, when Anders cupped his hands around Cero’s scruffy cheeks, kneeling there at his side.

“I need to get my things, you idiot,” Anders whispered. He pressed their foreheads together, trying to ignore the dampness and focus instead on how clammy Cero felt. He was getting sick.

“You’ll be back, right?”

Anders nodded, letting his eyes drop closed. He lingered there, feeling the gentle puff of Cero’s breath against his face. His shuddering breath. He couldn’t shake the nervousness of what might happen if he left, if Cero was going to have some kind of episode and be dead by the time Anders returned with his pitiful number of belongings.

“I’ll send Orana up to help you.”

“She doesn’t know, none of it,” Cero muttered. When Anders opened his eyes, Cero was glancing off to some corner of the room. It was almost like he was ashamed that he hadn’t shared this with anyone else, but on closer inspection, Anders followed his gaze back over to the nondescript box on Cero’s desk.

“You’re sick,” Anders decided, looking away from the box with a grimace. “It’s not a lie, you’re getting sick. I’ll just tell her you’re sick.”

Cero nodded weakly, looking back over Anders’ face. He looked so worried, but there was something else behind the wrinkle in his brow. Cero would’ve been a fool if he didn’t know what it was. That damned box in the corner of his desk.

“Take it with you.”

Anders’ eyebrows shot up, “What?”

“Get rid of it,” Cero rolled onto his side, towards the middle of the bed where Anders was still kneeling. Away from the desk—the box.

“I don’t even know where I’d…” Anders ran his hand up and down Cero’s back, watching him for a moment only to let his eyes be dragged back to the box. He knew what was inside, though he’d never seen it. He’d never watched Cero take his lyrium, in some desperate attempt to deny he was taking it at all.

“I’ll dump it off the coast if I have to,” Anders said, instead. Cero hummed his approval and didn’t fight when Anders pulled himself off the bed.

By the time Anders was headed out the door, a wrapped package under his arm, Cero was dressed and set up in a large armchair down in the main room, in front of the fire. Glissandro was happily flopped over at his feet, tongue drooped out of his mouth and eyes half lidded. Orana had been fully informed of his condition, some kind of seasonal illness. Nothing really here nor there, but he needed someone close by in case something flared up, and she hadn’t asked questions. Instead, she’d handed him an old worn leather book—his favorite, she attested—and set out off to the kitchen.

There wasn’t really any need after that, so when Anders left, he just sent a wave over his shoulder and listened fondly to the grunt Cero gave in return. Saying goodbye wasn’t really necessary, and the key in his pocket made it all the more real. All just idle thoughts to keep him going one day longer, because he had a stop to make before he opened the clinic. It’d be nothing short of environmental destruction, throwing the box into the ocean, but it was what he’d promised.

The coast was a bit too far, and even if the docks were in the complete and opposite direction of where he really needed to go—where he hadn’t been in a full day—it was still something he had to do. Cero was more than just another patient, they were _lovers_. It was important.

That, or it was a really good excuse to tell himself as to why he’d spent an entire day away from the clinic. Even he wasn’t cruel enough to make Cero change his entire way of life in a rat-infested sewer hole, so it was enough for now. Enough to push the thought out of his head as he reached the dock. He squatted just far enough that he could look over the edge, see himself in the murky blue water. It was hardly, really, blue. Just an off shade of grey, depressing like the sky and the rest of Kirkwall. Just the perfect place to drop all of his problems for the time being.

He didn’t even hesitate, just dropped the box, wrap and all, into the water with an unceremonious splash. When the water rebounded up onto his coat, he dignified it one bored glance before standing up. There was no time to let the relief was over him, he wouldn’t allow himself to feel that. Not yet, not when there was work to be done. Even then, he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to admit how much power one stupid, dingy box had held over them.

Out of sight, out of mind.

 

__

 

If it wasn’t for the constant sweating, Cero might have been able to enjoy the flickering of the fire, Glissandro’s weight on his foot. The sweating, Maker, the sweating. The constant itch at the back of his skull, the way the edges of his vision seemed to blacken out and blur together. He’d slid half way down the chair by now, feet sticking out, and somehow, Glissandro was still hanging on with his front paw and the underside of his chin.

“Orana, would you _please_ stop fussing,” his hands were over his ears, book long forgotten on the floor, and for as much as the pain was riding up in his middle, he still had the wherewithal to shout.

She stopped in her tracks, fingers tightening around a broom until her knuckles turned white.

“Fussing? I didn’t realize—”

“Stop, stop,” he threw out his hand. “Stop that,” he wound his wrist a moment, giving some vague abortive gesture, “talking. Moving. I can’t…” but he trailed off, brought his hand back and massaged his temples.

Couldn’t hear himself think? He didn’t really have thoughts. Just that itch at the back of his skull. He went to scratch it. He started with one hand, just two fingers, but Maker it was still there. Still creeping along around just underneath his skin. Then all of his fingers. Just out of reach and tearing at it with both of his hands didn’t help. Scratching, _clawing._ Until he couldn’t hear anything but the incessant tug and pull of his skin against his skull—and _Maker_ , it itched. Itched, and itched, and itched, and—

“Cero!”

He jerked, hands flying out, and he heard it before he felt it. The sudden stinging on his palm. Heard the thud, and suddenly was flying to his feet and falling forward onto his knees. He hadn’t even realized, and that was the worst part of it—that he hadn’t _realized._

“Orana, Orana, I’m so sorry,” he scrambled to help her sit up.

“It’s alright,” she was nothing but smiles, even holding her willowy hand up to her face. It hurt, to see her like that, and he held up his hand when she opened her mouth again.

“It’s not alright,” he whispered, helpless. “Come on, let’s get something on that.”

She followed him up easily, and Cero was almost unnerved at how something like that hadn’t even fazed her. He was shaking, himself, and wasn’t sure if it was the itch or the _fear_. All the way back to the kitchen, he didn’t let go of her hand.

After she was taken care of, and let off to do whatever it is she _wanted_ to do, Cero made his painful way back up the stairs. He was almost disappointed to glance back down to see Orana pick up her sweeping where she’d left off. She was nothing if not diligent. Diligent enough to stay downstairs, or at least that’s what he thought, because his hands were still shaking. Working the door knob of his room open was enough struggle, and then he was fighting the line of his pants.

He was still hot, and after the panic, now he was just tired. Tired, stiff, and that itch was still there, and his _damn pants_ would not come off. The ties were all too tight, and there were too many of them for him to concentrate on. In the end, Cero just let out a frustrated groan and collapsed face first onto the bed. A mistake, because the itch started to crawl up as a dull, indescribable little pain throughout the sides of his skull. Just something he hoped—really hoped—he could just sleep off.

By the time he’d finally managed to roll the rest of his body into bed, some few odd hours later, the door to his room opened right back up. He hadn’t even remembered closing it, or Glissandro being dead asleep on top of the covers next to him, but it closed again just as soon as it opened.

“Maker, you’re a mess.”

Anders.

“That’s what they call me,” Cero’s voice was muffled by the pillow, “The Mess of Kirkwall.”

Anders scoffed a bit of laughter, shaking his head, “I’ll have you know you’re also causing me a great deal of trouble. When I arrived at my lovely sewer hole this morning,” Cero’s words, always, and Anders was shucking his coat, “there was a kid sitting outside half asleep.”

“Heard it was cold last night.”

“Mm,” Anders hummed, dropping his coat over the desk. He didn’t speak up after that, and instead worked on changing for the night.

Cero watched him, best he could with half his face shoved into a pillow. It felt unreal, watching Anders peal off his clothes. It wasn’t going to be just a quick stay over, it was to crawl into bed and go straight to sleep. Sickeningly and wonderfully normal, domestic. He smiled weakly; Anders pulled on the long dress shirt he wore to bed.

“Why’s he there?” Cero asked.

Anders looked back at him for a moment, “Well,” and he was walking over to the bed next, “needed the magic touch.”

“Sounds absolutely magical.”

Business as always, following, and Anders crawled straight into bed. He didn’t miss the hesitation as Cero curled around him, but they settled in just after. Anders did, let his eyes fall close and the day’s stress send him straight to sleep. They hadn’t talked about the box, but it was enough to know that Anders didn’t come back with it. It wasn’t enough to let Cero sleep though, curled up with his arm beneath the pillow, beneath Anders’ head. He had one arm draped over Anders’ hip, and it felt so familiar and grounding.

The grounding was the important part, to keep him somewhere while his head spun around with that old ache that hadn’t gone away. Only this time, it was pounding and impressive, and interspersed with something like thoughts, just dripping out everywhere between the throbs. Then, somewhere between the waking dreams and the sleeping, there was just a pause. And then screaming, and a replay of waking up in a cold sweat and Anders holding him down, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

“Cello, Maker, what are you—” but he cut himself off, running his fingers down Cero’s face like he was horrified. Horrified that if he looked away, Cero was going to disappear just like that ghost.

He was covered in sweat, breathing hard, and staring wide eyed with even wider pupils. Glancing each which way, left and right, and Anders trying to keep him still, keep him focused. Keep him _there_.

“Cello, hey,” Anders tapped his cheek that time, bringing their eyes together.

Cero sucked in a hard breath. And held it. After a long moment, released it. He kept that up for a long moment, a few moments, and Anders still hadn’t fallen back down to the bed. He was still hovering stupidly over his face, just staring and breathing in small, hitched little breaths.

“Are you…?”

“Alright?” Cero glanced off to the side instead. “Maybe.”

Maybe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets well acquainted with a bucket, does something stupid, and it may be the last thing he ever does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been done for like three days but I just never got around to posting it, but here it is. Unless something changes, next chapter should be the last one. Thanks for reading.

A cold bed was the absolute worst thing to wake up to, and doing just that, Anders remembered it with a grimace, feeling along the sheets where Cero was _supposed_ to be. But, instead, there was just the echo of retching floating about the house. Anders sighed, and next thing he was rolling out of bed and dragging the top sheet with him, wrapped around his shoulders and trailing behind him like some royal garb.

“Cello?”

There was a weak groan that came in response. Anders followed the weak echo into the bathroom. All he had to do was bump into the door and it flitted open, enough that he could see Cero huddled in the corner with a bucket in his lap. His face was pale, pupils still a little wide. But, something about his disheveled hair and the way he looked at Anders had him smiling.

“I could use some of that great and wonderful magic,” Cero groaned. If he hadn’t been clutched onto that bucket like it was his life line, Anders could just see him reaching out with his arms.

“I don’t think magic helps with this,” Anders said.

He took a minute to himself, leaning in the doorway and glancing around the bathroom. It wasn’t the complete the mess he was expecting with the way Cero looked. It was obvious he hadn’t gone to sleep after the nightmare and may have even spent the night curled up with that bucket instead of him.

“But,” he amended, laughing to himself as Cero gave him that renowned kicked-puppy look. He made his way across the little bathroom, dragging the sheet with him, and plopped down cross legged right next to Cero.

“I might be able to provide some comfort.”

He pulled the sheet, best he could, around Cero’s shoulders too. It was nice for a moment or two, as long as Cero could stand it, but he batted the sheet off not a second too late, and Anders’ arm with it. Their shoulders stayed pressed together, as Anders stared. Cero shifted a bit, but didn’t push Anders off, didn’t even glance at him. Though, Anders was keenly aware of how Cero did keep the bucket pointed in the opposite direction, but it wasn’t as though he really wanted to see whatever filled it.

“Don’t ask if I’m alright,” Cero muttered, “it’s hot.”

Anders nodded, and shifted to leave nothing _but_ their shoulders touching. He was left leaning a little awkwardly against Cero. They sat there until another fit overwhelmed Cero, and he was leaning as far away as possible. The coughing, the retching, the heaving. And Anders just sat there, an idle hand against Cero’s thigh like it would help.

When it was over, Cero leaned back and bumped his head into the wall, “You should really get to the clinic.”

They were left in silence for a minute, and Anders drooped pathetically into Cero’s collarbone. There were _things_ to do, of course. Plans, papers to write, cats to feed. Probably people to help, but watching the way Cero was just quaking—it wasn’t exactly wrong to want to be selfish every now and again, was it?

“What if—”

“It’s not an option, Anders, you should go. I’ll be fine.”

Anders stared a moment, brows furrowed. Cero wouldn’t even look up from the putrid mess he’d left in the bucket. Still, his shoulders were trembling, like he was trying to hold back another fit just long enough for Anders to come to his senses and realize he wasn’t more important than opening a clinic and helping people. Helping people who otherwise, anyway, couldn’t help themselves, which Cero was more than capable of. If not, Orana had a room downstairs. She wasn’t more than a misplaced shout away.

“You don’t look fine,” Anders said. Still frowning.

“Well, like you said, magic isn’t going to fix this. Might as well fight the fight alone.”

He pursed his lips instead of responding, just wasted the next few seconds by looking up and down Cero’s body. Cero was pale, head to toe, from wherever his skin peaked through the clothing he was still wearing. Pale, clammy, shivering now like he was cold. But the sweat was obvious, beading at his forehead.

Cero had always had this sort of dingy blond hair, the kind that was darker in the winter and brighter in the summer. He’d taken to slicking it back every morning, and sometimes Anders had even gotten to glimpse through the open bathroom door in the morning and watch him do it. Meticulous. It always seemed a little unnecessary, with the danger they seemed to wander into. But still, it was something he always at least enjoyed doing, something that made him feel a little more human and a little less warrior for all. A little less statue. From the moment he’d decided to give up the lyrium, he’d stopped. Now, Cero was sitting there, curled up and away from Anders, with hair hanging down in his face and curling all around his ears like he’d even forgotten to bathe.

“Cello—”

“Maker, I am not talking about this right now. I just want to sleep,” and he was pulling himself up off the floor. He used the wall as support, and almost managed to make it out of the bathroom without tripping over himself.

“There’s got to be something I can do, at least,” Anders was following him out of the room a second later, the sheet left forgotten in the bathroom.

“You can go to your clinic and leave me to sleep. Please.”

“Cello—”

“Anders!” Cero whirled around, and if he hadn’t been so incredibly lucid at that one moment—he wouldn’t have realized his hands were up before he’d even turned around. All the sudden, he was remembering quite literally _throwing_ Orana on the floor and listening to her try to tell him it was okay. Just barely, he’d stopped himself in his tracks and threw his hands down to his sides as fast as he could.

The damage was already done, and Anders had taken a step back. There was such a look on his face, and it just seared itself into the back of Cero’s mind. Some terrifying amalgamation of horror, shock, and betrayal. But, mostly anger. Seething rage that this was Cero’s reaction, that Cero—even if it wasn’t even him, just his body—had dared think that he might raise a hand. No harm done, not physical, and Anders was still throwing his clothes on and leaving.

Cero didn’t even try to stop him, just stood there helpless and limp in the middle of his room. Still, shaking and sweating and cold but hot, he could feel the need to vomit rumble up in his stomach again. But, he stood there in silence, waiting, listening, until he heard the front door slam shut. His heart sank right into the pits of his stomach in time with the reverberating thud, and he was alone as he was ever going to be with two dwarves and an elf living with him.

Instead, he returned to his bucket in the bathroom to finally hurl up that curdling panic.

 

__

 

Anders couldn’t make it out of Hightown fast enough. Not that he’d ever really been able to, but this time he nearly sprinted through the shops and down those forsaken stairs. There’d always been way too many of them, a slide at least would’ve been more efficient going down. Instead, he hoped them down two at a time. He’d never been so happy to finally shut himself away inside of Darktown, away from the rest of high society and normal, socially acceptable people.

He’d never been around particularly normal, socially acceptable people. The templars were never much to be described that way, and really the only person he’d ever cared for at the Circle had been Karl. Remembering that still put a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach—but after that, it had been wardens. The Warden Commander was nice and all, but still a little strange as the rest of them had been. Now, looking sideways around his clinic, he was still walking with the lesser of folks, if they were to be described that way.

“Anders?”

The sudden voice jolted him back from wherever he’d gone, somewhere outside of these dingy, cracking walls. But, he was there, and staring at Isabela. He frowned immediately—she didn’t frequent any lower than Lowtown, not unless she’d come across a rather unfavorable partner. But, here she was, smirking something poisonous and perched on the chair he’d always kept neatly tucked around a vaguely desk looking structure. He’d slept in that chair more often than he’d care to admit.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said, rather dumbly.

“I don’t know why, I’m here every week without fail, yeah? Came by to make sure you’re both on tonight for Wicked Grace.”

Isabela was picking at the papers strewn across his desk. Things, old writings and letters he’d never really been too bothered left, didn’t think it was worth taking them when he’d officially moved. She seemed perfectly enamored with the scratch writing, snooping through whatever Anders hadn’t been prudent enough to hide away. Not that it was anything important.

“Wicked Grace,” he repeated. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well _you’re_ always there, ready to lose a pretty silver or two,” she laughed idly to herself. “I meant Cero—haven’t seen him around lately.”

Anders could practically feel the color drain from his face, but Isabela seemed completely unfazed as she looked at him. He must have been fine, he thought, but still couldn’t maintain that aching eye contact. So, he looked elsewhere, at the wide eyed young woman who came stumbling in. Too much alcohol and a funny twist in her ankle as she walked.

“He’s been, uh,” Anders took all of one exact second to think of why he was covering for Cero, “sick.”

Because he owed it to him, at least once. If he wanted Isabela to know…

“If you keep frowning like that, it’ll be stuck,” she teased.

“Look, I’ve got things to do—”

“Say no more,” she threw up her hand, uncrossed her legs, and promptly sauntered out the way she came. With her gone, and no shortage of work and things to keep him busy—Anders resumed the frowning. It was easier to just let it fester than it was to let all the excuse roll through his head about why _he_ was over reacting.

But there was no denying it. Cero wasn’t supposed to be like the other templars.

Still, the day passed on, and next thing Anders knew, he was stomping up the back stairs of The Hanged Man. He could already hear all the talking, the laughing, and Varric was already spinning some tale that was, without a doubt, fake. But it was alright, because Merrill was laughing with wide and curious eyes, Isabela shaking her head and trying to drown out her mirth in a pint. He almost had to stop at the door, he was taken aback by the sudden atmosphere shift.

“Hey, Blondie finally made it!” apparently, he hadn’t stopped, because Varric blew his cover seconds later, and Isabela choked on her mead before slamming it down to wave him over. Anders even let himself smile at that, and he brushed through the doorway and over to the table. Varric had already dealt the cards—no doubt in his own favor—and a downturned hand was spread out at the empty chair he took beside Isabela. There was another one in the circle, an empty chair and a set of cards.

“Am I late? Looks like you guys already played a hand,” Anders shucked off his coat.

“Nah, right on time. Just telling Daisy about this meeting I had with one of my contacts last week.”

“I’m absolutely glad I missed it,” Anders said. He gratefully accepted the pint that was passed down to him, and even took a heavy swig.

“You’re oddly alone this evening,” Fenris made his appearance from whatever corner of this slug he’d been hiding in, with that deadpan scowl on his face.

“Will Hawke not be joining us? That’s a shame,” Merrill chimed right in. She had opted for water as her drink for the evening, though Anders wondered how she could trust any water that came from Kirkwall.

“Nope,” the only real insightful thing Anders had to offer. He didn’t even look up once he’d picked up the cards and poked through them. An absolutely terrible hand, really. He eyed the abandoned hand—Cero’s hand—for a moment before deciding it might be better to bluff this one out. He’d been getting better at it lately, though the lack of weight in his purse argued with his confidence.

“I haven’t seen him around either,” Varric added, a bit of a laugh at the end. He took a sip of whatever his chosen drink for the night was. “I’ve had people hounding me for an audience with the great revered _Champion of Kirkwall_.”

“I’m sure they can wait,” Anders faked the best grimace he could manage, squinted eyes and smiling vaguely.

He felt the room shift to him, and really tried to figure out if he was imagining it or if there really were several sets of eyes bearing down into his soul. He glanced up and had to admit he was being a bit dramatic, because it was only Fenris giving him a strange side glance as he sat down between Varric and Merrill. The glance lasted less than the second it took for Fenris to grab his cards, and he didn’t look back up. That was Fenris checked out, which lifted a weight off Anders’ shoulders.

“I was so looking forward to taking his money though,” Varric continued to laugh. “Poor bastard can’t play Wicked Grace to save his life. You should’ve brought that dog of his instead.”

“Right, Gliss at least poses a challenge,” Isabela chimed in. She was in full poker-face mode, looking over her cards like they were just blank pieces of stationary.

“I’ll be sure to let him know you enjoy his dog’s company more than his,” came Anders’ dry retort, but he was starting to agree with the sentiment—and he didn’t even like dogs. Dogs other than Glissandro, he amended.

“That’s right! I did hear you two had started living together. That’s absolutely wonderful,” Merrill was leaning forward, elbows on the table, hands folded neatly under her chin where her cards were dangling inward. “Do be sure to share.”

Anders glanced over at her, “Share what, exactly?”

“What’s it like? I’m sure Hawke is just amazing to live with—he always seems so attentive.”

“You could say that,” Anders frowned.

“That doesn’t look like a newlywed face to me,” Fenris wasn’t as checked out as Anders had thought, though he was swirling an entire bottle of wine in his hand, playing his comment off like an afterthought.

“What would you know about it? Do most newlyweds live alone in dusty old mansions?” Anders couldn’t help but smirk. He heard Isabela try to stifle a laugh beside him, and Merrill was hiding behind her cards.

Fenris only grunted in response and took a long swig of the wine bottle before setting it on the table. He didn’t have anything to say in response, and instead peered over his cards.

“I thought we had a game,” he grumbled.

And they did, so Varric started like he always did. It didn’t take twenty minutes and two lost hands for Anders to realize that it wasn’t the same without Cero. There were no shortage of conversations and laughs to be had. Isabela had quite the story to share about a run in she’d had near the alienage earlier in the week, something of which nearly caused Fenris to choke on his cheap Lowtown wine. But, every story was punctuated perfectly with another thing about Cero. Nothing insensitive, nothing in jest, to the point where Anders was convinced he was just being sensitive to the topic.

“Something wrong there, Blondie?” Varric interrupted.

“Fine,” Anders replied.

When he was met with silence, he looked up. This time, he wasn’t imagining the stares. They were looking straight at him, expectantly, and it carried on a moment too long before he realized that it was his turn to try and salvage his hand. No matching suits. The only way he could win this was if the Maker Himself set out the next set of cards Anders could switch out, and even then, it’d have to be long enough that the others didn’t find their winning hand before the Angel of Death card showed up.

In other words, he was screwed. So, he did what any respectable Andrastian abomination would do and tossed his cards on the table, face up, and ignored Isabela’s snorting laughter.

“I’ve amazed you’ve stayed so long,” Varric laughed too.

“Yeah,” Anders agreed, “so I think I’m done for the night.”

He was already throwing on his coat again before anybody had registered what he was doing. It wasn’t like Anders to throw in the towel, especially not so quick and so few coins lost on the betting. A few more and Anders would be out the coins he’d managed to save.

“You’re leaving? I’ve never known you to opt out. There’s still plenty of mead to drink and coin to lose!”

“Yeah, well,” Anders smiled and trailed off there. He wasn’t quite ready to admit it to himself, the reason he was leaving, and wasn’t ready for anyone to try and convince it out of him. Nobody tried, or he didn’t give them time to, and he was waving over his shoulder and walking out the door. Maybe his dignity was a bit scarred, but his purse was safe.

The walk was just as safe, and it made it long. Anders had time and then some to just think. Wicked Grace night happened once a week, something that Cero had never missed. This time, not only did he miss, but there was no excuse. Anders had ignored the topic of conversation gracefully, but Maker, if the stories hadn’t been something. He must have been starved for affection or something, because next thing he knew he was shoving his key through the door and closing it behind him. The Hawke Manor.

No lights, no bodies. It must’ve been later than Anders realized, and even more the reason to find it strange how easy his walk back had been. The silence just made every stomp of his boots all the louder, sneaking or not, it was like walking through a cave. Then the stairs, creakier than he remembered, and the floor boards of story number two louder. So was Glissandro, now that he realized the creaking was not the floor, but a pitched whining coming from inside the bedroom.

“Cello?” Anders croaked out—didn’t recognize his own voice. The name came out more a pale conglomeration of ‘Cero’ and ‘Cello’. He never knew which quite to say when they weren’t on good terms.

There was no response, so it didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was no response. Anders pushed through the door. A lump free bed was the first bad sign, and the second was Glissandro hunched down near the floor, whining. Between the whining and the low tail, he hadn’t even noticed Anders standing there in the doorway.

“Cello?” Anders tried again, clearer this time. No response. Not from Cello, but Glissandro noticed he was there this time and nearly knocked him over. Panic, excitement—Anders wasn’t sure what it was, only that there was slobber all over the front of his shirt, and Glissandro had never jumped on him before.

“What’s wrong? Glissandro—” the dog was down and moving back to where he was before Anders could finish.

Anders followed, then stopped. There was a bit of light, dull and dying from whatever was left burning in the bathroom. And there, just in front of it, lying half on the floor and half hanging on the edge of the tub was Cero.

“Maker—Cero!” Anders dashed across the floor. Never mind the vomit that had missed the bucket, the tub, Anders threw himself to the ground and grabbed Cero by the shoulders.

Nothing. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack—dead weight. Not even an inch to the side and he had collapsed to the floor, half in Anders lap and half bent and broken. Panic caught up in Anders throat with the rest of his breath, and he choked on it as he shook Cero. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—Maker, even his vision had started to black around the edges.

“Cero—Cello, hey! Cero, wake up—please,” he tugged until he could get Cero up, at least partially around his own shoulders.

Cero used to come up behind him and scoop him up bridal-style just because he could. He claimed that he had to find some use for all those muscles he’d gained from waving that giant war axe around, and what better way than twirling Anders around like he weighed nothing. It always led to a sideways comment about Anders needing to eat more, or maybe slug around a heftier staff. Anders liked his staff. So did Cero.

Anders didn’t have that same strength, and he had never hated it until now. He hated the way his body fought against him as he tried—and barely managed—to stand up with Cero hanging off him. Facing outward again reminded him of one, crucial, important detail. Glissandro was still standing there, whining and a worried tail between his legs.

“Go get help, _please_ ,” Anders begged. He was stumbling with the first step, but he somehow managed to stay standing. It had to be nothing but sheer willpower at this point, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Glissandro was gone in an instant, barking loud enough that the whole house echoed with it. He prayed that was all Glissandro would do. There wasn’t time to go through town and find someone, even if they might have found someone to help better.

When Glissandro came back, he had Orana in tow. She was a complete mess and had very clearly had a heart attack from the panic before rolling out of bed. Her breath was coming out in punctuated hitches as she stared, horrified, at the scene before her. It took only a second of that before she came forward and grabbed Cero’s other arm.

“I didn’t know—I—” she bit her lip and grunted softly, struggling with carrying half the weight. She’d gained weight after she moved here, that much was sure, but Anders was also sure none of it was muscle.

“He’s not—he won’t wake up,” Anders struggled in return. He refused to just _assume_ that Cero was dead, even if the horror stories were doing nothing to help his panic. He could hardly breathe, hardly think of anything but the stories he had heard of templars who had tried to stave off lyrium.

Some had gone mad, some had died.

He wasn’t going to tell himself that Cero was dead.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything turns out a little better than any of them really expected it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! I have to say, I almost gave up part way through, but I'm glad I had it in me to finish. Thanks everyone for reading, and hopefully life won't get in my way too bad from here on out.

Between the two of them, they managed to hall Cero onto the bed, albeit haphazardly. He still wasn’t moving, deathly still and deathly cold, but there was something. Just the faintest flutter in his eyelids as they shifted his limbs around, like he was dreaming. But Anders still couldn’t see his breath—couldn’t see the rise and fall of his chest, and certainly couldn’t feel it. He was praying, now, mumbling under his breath that it was just because he was panicked that he couldn’t tell if Cero was breathing or not. Not because Cero _wasn’t_ breathing.

“He’s been in bed all day, hasn’t made a peep,” Orana tried to fill the silence, with anything that could show Anders that she didn’t know. That Cero didn’t even know—that he’d even been doing better.

Anders just shook his head and leaned back over Cero. He could feel himself physically deflating, calming down, going into a safer place where Cero was just a patient that had been brought into his clinic—in a panic—but could still be saved. This wasn’t Hawke, the man he’d fallen in love with and the man it’d kill him to lose. This was just another man, and he was sure Cero would forgive him for thinking so badly if it meant he could calm down.

“Maker, please,” Anders whispered. He leaned over just enough and put his hands on either side of Cero’s face. His skin was clammy, oily. Anders flinched.

Even if all he could remember was listening to Cero go on about how proper skin care was the biggest thing with the nobles. If you wanted to fit in, you had to have good skin, and Cero had never particularly had _bad_ skin, but the noble life had been good to him. It would continue to be good for him, and Anders bit down hard on his own lip. It was so much harder to do this than he’d never imagined—but the magic flowed out from his fingertips. Orana audibly gasped from somewhere behind him, where she was half kneeling on the ground in a sad attempt to keep Glissandro calm.

At least Anders had the comfort of knowing that Glissandro had been just as shaken; that a dog with his intelligence had been pushed to stupidity seeing his master dead— _presumably dead._

Still, the magic floated off like blue mist, permeated every pore of Cero’s body as Anders ghosted his hands down and around his silhouette. Just barely close enough to touch his neck, sickeningly reminiscent of something so much better. If Anders had been any other man, maybe a stronger one, he wouldn’t have ever started thinking about it. Would’ve blinked away the brimming tears in his eyes instead of letting them drip down his face.

His hands made it over Cero’s shoulders, down his collarbone and over his chest, like they were moving on their own. This was all just some practiced dance he’d done too often, trying to save lives. Trying to keep Cero from becoming another name on that list in the back of his head of the people he couldn’t save. He had to beat that out of his head, forcibly will himself back into the present and what he was doing, stopping to let his hands hover just over Cero’s midsection. There, he froze and stiffened, and just continued to mutter that Andraste and the Maker would see him through this.

Maybe if he tried bargaining, because Cero had so much still to do. Bethany was still in the Circle, there were mages to help, and who knew when the next disaster was to strike Kirkwall—

“Anders!” Orana noticed it first, and she was dashing across the room almost as fast as Glissandro did—only he had the wherewithal to stay on the floor. Orana, however, pulled herself onto the other side of the bed, kneeling in the middle and hovering over Cero, while Anders was staring wide eyed and shaking.

Cero’s eyes were opened, and _he_ had the _audacity_ to panic too, with his deep drawn in breath and his gasp and looking around. Suddenly, he was trying to sit up, but Anders came back just fast enough to press his hands into Cero’s chest before he collapsed after them, burying his face against Cero’s neck.

“What in _Andraste’s Name_ was that?” Anders said—breathed—barely squeaked out as he felt his strength sapped.

Orana was silent beside them, just stroking Cero’s hair away and out of his face. She was humming, and Anders recognized the tune—a song that Cero loved, and she had tried so desperately to teach Anders to play before they both realized there wasn’t an ounce of his body that even remotely understood music. Let alone rhythm.

Cero didn’t say anything, just laid there helplessly for a moment before everything caught up with him. Even if his hold was weak, it was something real, something that meant that Cero wasn’t dead, so he held onto Anders with whatever resolve he still had left. Clenching and gripping at the fabric of his coat. Trying.

“Water,” he managed to croak out. Anders shot up in a second, but Orana put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a telling smile.

After Orana padded off to get the water, it was all Anders could do to keep himself calm. He barely managed to pull off his boots before he was crawling into his side of the bed— _his_ —and kept himself propped up on his elbow just enough to keep his hand on Cero’s face and look him in the eye. Now, now he was crying like an idiot.

“I’m sorry,” Cero whispered, bringing up his own hand to grab at Anders’ hand. It was nothing more than a weak tug, but Anders followed it and intertwined their fingers.

“Shut up,” Anders said, pressing their foreheads together. He let his eyes close, some desperate attempt to stop the tears.

“Let me apologize—I hurt you.”

Anders sucked in a hard breath, but he didn’t open his eyes. The panic had made him forget, really, about that morning. About what Cero had _threatened_ to do, but not actually done. No. He’d just raised his hand and looked so incredibly terrified by what his own boy was trying to do that he’d pulled it back down.

“I’m okay,” Anders decided on.

That was different, not what Cero had been expecting. All he could remember was Orana—trying to tell him that _it_ was okay. That what he did was okay. But this time. Anders was okay.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” he continued, “any of it. The—whatever happened—this, don’t do it again. You scared me. Maker, I—” Anders stopped himself before his voice cracked.

Cero squeezed his hand, “How was Wicked Grace?”

The sudden change of topic, the normality of it, had Anders spitting out a laugh, “Varric dealt me the worst hand I’d ever seen. Everyone asked about you—talked about you, I… I left. Sensitive, I guess,” he sniffed.

“I like that about you,” Cero hummed, and Anders didn’t miss the smirk on his lips.

“You almost died—”

“I feel fine,” he argued, weakly, and didn’t move. He was content to lay there, with Anders’ forehead touching his and their breath mingling together.

“They don’t know,” Anders finally let his eyes open, and he pulled back just enough that he could meet Cero’s, when they opened.

“I didn’t want them to. In case _that_ didn’t end quite so well,” he even managed to laugh when he’d finished talking. Anders almost had it in him to be offended.

“You have to tell them. Varric will be happy he doesn’t have to scrounge up anymore lyrium for yo—”

“Please don’t talk about it,” Cero sighed, “like, ever. There’s no telling if I’ll relapse,” and then he laughed.

“He’ll be happy to have you back at the game,” Anders amended, and pulled back his hand only so he could curl himself around Cero’s side.

Cero nodded, letting his eyes droop shut again, “I have had a bit of extra coin in my purse as of late. A donation or two wouldn’t hurt.”

Anders didn’t have the energy to laugh, but neither did Cero. There was just a silent understanding that, even after a near death experience, Cero still had it in him to be a wise-ass, and Anders wouldn’t really have wanted it any different. It meant Cero was here—was real—and this wasn’t some sick mind game someone was playing.

They stopped talking, after that, and let the night’s panic send them both off.

 

__

 

Morning came, and neither one of them had moved from the position they were in when they fell asleep. Cero was still on his back, one arm under the pillows, under Anders’ neck, and the other laying uselessly on his chest. Anders was still curled up on his side, one leg thrown over Cero’s lap and fingers clutching stupidly at his shirt. If anyone else had looked at them like this, they would’ve, without a doubt, thought it was the most pathetic scene they’d ever laid eyes on. Two grown men clutching into each other like the world was about to end, but Anders eyes were still puffy, and he wasn’t quite sure it hadn’t. Clutching onto Cero like this was the only thing he had that made it real.

Anders did finally shift enough to push himself up. Only then did he realize how disgusting they both were. Sometime in the middle of the night, Cero’s fever had broken, because the sheets were damp and so was the pillow where Cero’s head was, eyes still lazily shut. His own clothes were damp. Residual sweat. He grimaced and found that the sweat was enough to pull him out of bed. He’d seen grosser, no doubt been covered in grosser, but it was more or less the reason _why_ he’d woken covered in sweat that made it so wrong.

As it were, Cero woke up to a cold bed. The sweat had more or less dried up by the time he finally felt strong enough to open his eyes, and he was left with a bit of a sickly cold feeling instead. But, there was no sudden urge to puke, and for that he could’ve dropped to his knees to thank the Maker. Instead, he pushed himself up and sat there for a moment, dazed, and looking around his room. Everything looked like it was painstakingly in it’s exact place; even Anders’ boots were tucked up against the wall. If his memory served him, the room had been something of a nightmare show before they went to bed, from the panic and a restless dog. Except, the door was closed and Glissandro was nowhere in sight.

“Anders?”

Cero dragged himself out of bed when there was no response. Feeling so weak in his knees wasn’t something he was accustomed to, and he needed to immediately grab onto his armoire to keep from falling.

“Maker,” he muttered. His own hands looked strange to him, dry and cracked. He hadn’t even realized he wanted water until he saw them. So, the bathroom then, with or without Anders. Anders, he thought, who was probably at the clinic by now, anyway, so it didn’t matter. He pushed himself off the wardrobe and made his way towards his little bathroom.

The door was closed, but he didn’t think twice about pushing his way inside. His bathroom, after all. What he found—heard—was a comedically high pitched screech and splashing water. Cero immediately beamed.

“Maker, Cello—!” Anders scrambled for a minute before he settled down against the edge of the tub. There was a sheer puddle of water all over the surrounding floor, and the damage was done.

“I was wondering where you went,” he was laughing and padding over to the side of the tub, splashing through the little puddles. “Was it so nasty you had to wash me all off?”

Anders covered his face with his hands like he was about to smooth back his hair, but instead he just sat there breathing hard enough that Cero could hear the sharp intake through his nose. It took him long enough to realize that Anders was _laughing_ , laughing hard enough that his shoulders were shaking as he tried to keep himself in check. All Cero did then was drop down to kneel at the side of the tub, leaning against his arm folded up on the rim. He started laughing too.

“This is so stupid,” Anders finally lamented, laughing uselessly into his hands. Cero reached out and peeled his hands from his face. Just to hold them, and he was laughing too. It was all so normal, for what they had been through, and just as Anders said—it was stupid. Stupid, but it made his chest swell and he felt warm.

“Do you want me to join you? I’m a little gross too,” he laughed.

Anders couldn’t help the absolutely ridiculous smile on his face.

It was all so simple, so easy. They bathed together, like they had hundreds of times. Orana made breakfast—or was it brunch—and she was ever so pleased to see Cero up and about on his own. Pleased enough that she forgot herself for a moment and hugged him, but she was so embarrassed afterwards. Cero told her time and time again that it was okay—she didn’t have to be so formal. She wasn’t hearing it, and Anders just sat to the side and laughed like he always did. Bohdan and Sandal joined them eventually, and Cero made his peace with a very, _very_ upset Glissandro.

And after what seemed too painfully normal for it to have been real, Anders shut the door behind them when they were back inside Cero’s bedroom. Which, for what it was worth, wasn’t normal. Not at this time of the day, anyway, so Cero raised an eyebrow when he looked back at him. Anders, who was fiddling with his fingers and picking at the dirt beneath his nails, swaying awkwardly from side to side.

“What did I do this time?” Cero asked.

Anders just shook his head, “No, it’s nothing—it’s just,” he took a deep breath, “We have to tell them.”

Cero blinked, waited, and blinked again, “Oh! Oh, you mean,” he just waved his hands for a moment instead of finishing. Anders nodded, however, and seemed to get the idea. Cero was just following his own request—don’t mention the lyrium.

“You’ve been gone for over a week. They have a right to know, don’t they?”

Cero shrugged.

Anders frowned, “Did you really plan on hiding it?”

“No, it’s just… This whole thing, I’d rather they didn’t…” he sighed, “I’d rather they didn’t know what I did.”

“They don’t have to, but maybe at least that you’re…” Better. Alright. Not at death’s door, maybe.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll always be a templar,” Cero sat down at the edge of his bed, “lyrium or not. It just means I don’t have the fancy powers, but I’ve still got everything else.”

He always failed to mention how he’d lost his templar armor when he escaped from Lothering all those years ago. How he had never made the slightest move to join the Kirkwall Templars. How, for everything he said he was, he’d fought to protect the lives of mages. How he loved one without the slightest hesitation.

“You’re always trying to say something bad about yourself,” Still, Anders smiled and joined Cero on the bed.

They just sat there for what seemed an hour, the way Cero saw it. It was just sitting in painful silence, and perhaps even judgmental silence. After the minutes had passed and Cero looked up, still, Anders was just smiling that soft, sympathetic little smile he had.

“If the templar thing was bad,” Anders tried, “I don’t think we’d be sitting here right now. You’re just, well,” and he laughed, “you. Cello.”

It sounded far too simple, but Cero didn’t have it in him to argue. He didn’t even want to argue. For that moment, he really just wanted to believe it, so he did. But, it certainly wasn’t reason enough to ignore the pressing matter at hand. It wasn’t supposed to be daunting, the whole idea that the In-The-Name-of-Mages Templar Crusader had just lost the thing that powered most of his ability and was now nothing more than a man with a very large axe, would be wordless accepted and even praised by his friends. Except, he didn’t think that he would be, because he was just a man with a very large axe now, and that wasn’t terribly exciting. It probably wasn’t even particularly helpful.

Fenris had a large sword, but he glowed, so he still had something going for him. Even with lyrium, Cero hadn’t glowed. For a good reason, he supposed, and this was all he could think about as he followed scarcely behind Anders on their way to the Hanged Man.

“How did I let you talk me into this?” it was just a side comment, one that Anders had apparently heard, because he stopped just in front of the door to turn and send Cero a very unkind glare.

“Because it’s the right thing to do, and I appealed to your high morals and generous sensibility.”

Cero shrugged—that sounded right and passed through the door while Anders held it open.

With a passing thanks, Cero walked straight through the main room with some practiced foot technique. Nobody in The Hanged Man had any real perception of what was going on around them, and the only way to make it to the back without a drink spilled over the front of your clothing was to avoid collisions before they happened. Anders followed in the funny path Cero carved through the crowd, until they were safely up the stairs and in Varric’s little sweet. The moment they entered, however, Cero couldn’t help but feel like he’d just walked into an interrogation—or an intervention at the very least.

“There he is, the man of the hour! Where ya been, Cello?” Varric clapped whatever book he had in his hands shut.

“Um—sleeping, I was uh,” Cero took one look at Anders, “sick.”

Anders frowned.

“Ha,” Isabela seemed to notice the frown, “someone’s not telling the truth.”

“Surely you didn’t drag me down here just to hear that Hawke was sick,” even Aveline was there—and Cero was really gulping down some invisible lump in his throat now.

“It’s not exactly _wrong_ , I was sick,” Cero tried, and that time Anders gave his shoulder a shove.

Then there was nothing but uncomfortable silence, and really nothing else to say that wasn’t going to end in telling the truth. Not with Anders standing there just off to the side, slightly behind him with arms folded tightly across his chest. That scowl on his face was unnecessarily motherly, and it always bothered Cero, but there was something to be said for years Anders had lived that he hadn’t—would never, because that’s just how time had unfolded. Still, it wasn’t enough for Cero not to send the slightest of glares backwards.

Surely, he’d thank Anders for this one day.

“Well—I’m sure Varric will be happy to hear this, anyway,” Cero folded his arms loosely. He wasn’t mad, just vulnerable, and he didn’t like it. “I’ve been _sick_ , regardless of what Anders back there wants you to believe. But it’s, uh, well…

“I don’t know how to say any of this, and Anders made me do it, really. Okay, I made the final decision, but he pushed me, and he’s pushing me now—”

“Hawke,” it was Fenris that time. If nothing else, at least someone would tell him off when he was rambling.

“Lyrium withdrawal—there.” Cero huffed, petulant as always.

Nobody moved from their spots, and suddenly there were way too many eyes pinned directly on him. He wanted to think they were judgmental or pitying eyes. Something that he could be angry about it pin it all that he’d been wrong by telling them, wrong by going through the ordeal.

“Well, that’s good isn’t it?” Merrill was the first one to speak up. “Sure, it couldn’t have been nice, but it’s over now, right?”

Cero found it strange that she was looking around the room, seeking validation from the rest of their misfit little bunch that she wasn’t wrong. And she wasn’t, not really. Cero hadn’t felt this good in a long time, but there was something to be said for that obnoxious tingling at the back of his skull.

“Assuming I don’t get back on it,” Cero scoffed to himself, and it was a badly timed joke.

“It’s one less mark on your list, Hawke, and you’d do well to stay off it,” Aveline was standing up, a pointed finger in Cero’s face.

“Saves me the trouble at least,” Varric said.

Cero didn’t have to even look at Fenris to know the whole thing made him a bit uncomfortable. Lyrium wasn’t something he could get off—or get off him, anyhow. But, of them all, he at least understood the pain of it, even if he didn’t say anything.

“Saves you the trouble—you could be grateful he isn’t dead, you know. He can’t be a Champion if he’s dead,” Isabela was laughing, and for once Cero really agreed with her. He didn’t want this to be a big deal. It was easier if it was a joke.

“And we all know I’m certainly better off alive,” Cero chimed in.

“At least Blondie there is better off if you are,” Varric couldn’t help the comment, or the smirk and the raised eyebrow.

“And now I regret making you tell them,” Anders said. More lamented, than anything.

They were all laughing after that, though, even Anders as he was trying so hard to conceal it. No one even asked about it—what brought it on, what it was like, and certainly not whether it would affect his fighting abilities from there on out. Maybe it was some false sense of security, that they couldn’t possibly be facing anything more than bandits from here on out, with the Qunari threat dealt with. If that was the case, Cero didn’t particularly care, because nobody had actually asked.

Instead, they invited him to sit at the table, and even Aveline had a pint while they sat about and talked. Whatever it was that had kept Cero from telling them all at the beginning was long forgotten. It might have been a stupid reason now, for all he knew, but he happily took the pint that Isabela slid down the table for him. Nobody asked, and once the cards were out on the table, Cero all but forgot about it himself.

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com/)


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